The Theosophical quarterly

The
Theosophical Quarterly

VOLUME XVII

PUBLISHED BY / \Q I

THE THEOSOPHICAL SOCIETY 1 1 1

BROOKLYN, N. Y.

The Theosophical Quarterly

Subscription price, $1.00 per annum ; single copies, 25 cents

Published by The Theosophical Society at

159 Warren Street, Brooklyn, N. Y.

July; October; January; April

In Europe single copies may be obtained from, and subscriptions ^sent
Dr. Archibald Keightley, 46, Brook Street, London, W. 1, England

Entered July 17, 1905, at Brooklyn, N. Y., as second-class matter,
under Act of Congress of July 16, 1894

Copyright, 1919, by The Theosophical Society

JULY, 1919

The Theosophical Society, as such, is not responsible for any opinion
or declaration in this magazine, by whomsoever expressed, unless con-
tained in an official document.

THE KATHA UPANISHAD AND THE GREAT INITIATION

MANY Scriptures have been inspired by the Great Initiation;
with these are to be counted the Prometheus Bound of
.^schylus and the Prometheus Unbound of Shelley. In many
is embodied the wisdom gained in the Great Initiation; were
it not so, they would not be true Scriptures. There appears to be but
one, known in the world to-day, which has taken the Great Initiation
as its central theme: the Katha Upanishad, translated under the title
In the House of Death.

The Hymns of the Rig Veda, which were simply rearranged to
make up the Sama Veda and the Yajur Veda, belong pre-eminently to
the Brahmans, the white race that entered India by the Hindu Kush
passes, descending from Central Asia where they had dwelt for ages,
in close contact with the ancestors of the Chinese and Babylonians.
The Upanishads have their origin in quite another source : they were
handed down among the red Rajputs, as an immemorial teaching, of
which Krishna speaks thus in the Bhagavad Gita: "This imperishable
teaching of union I declared to the Solar lord. The Solar lord imparted
it to Manu, and Manu told it to Ikshvaku. Thus the Rajanya sages
knew it, handed down from Master to disciple. This teaching of union
has been lost in the world through long lapse of time, O consumer of
the foe. This same immemorial teaching of union I have declared to
thee to-day; for thou art my beloved, my companion; and this secret
doctrine is the most excellent treasure."

The stock of the red Rajputs was not Asiatic but Egyptian. From
Egypt, they came to Western India, bringing with them the holy knowl-
edge of the occult schools which, as a Master of the Egyptian Lodge
has said, "were the secret splendour of Egypt." This very truth is
contained in the sentences quoted from the Bhagavad Gita; for the Solar
lord is Ra, the Logos, the Sun God of Egypt. Manu is the genius of
the older Egyptian race, the race which came from Atlantis, in the
period of its submergence, and for this reason Manu is the central figure

4 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

of the Indian tradition of the Deluge. Ikshvaku is the leader and
founder of the Rajanya race in India, through whom, as King Initiate,
the occult wisdom was handed down.

In this way was founded the Lodge of Masters in India, which,
therefore, drew its occult knowledge from Egypt. It is true that the
White Brahmans, who entered India from the Central Asian tableland
(whither they had fled from Atlantis ages earlier), were in possession
of secret wisdom, embodied in the mantras which were afterwards
collected in the ten Circles of the Rig Veda. But, while they had the
casket, they had lost the key. This key was restored to them by the
red Rajanya sages, who had brought it with them from the occult
schools of Egypt.

The secret wisdom of Egypt, thus brought to India by the Rajanya
or Rajput race, had two forms; or, perhaps, it would be truer to say
that it had a living soul and an outer vesture. The living soul was
the actual process of the Great Initiation, with the complete practical
training leading up to it; the vesture was the ritual of Initiation, the
form of that august ceremony, together with the body of teachings of
the Lesser Mysteries. Both were perpetuated in the Indian Lodge,
which the red race from Egypt then formed. And while the soul of
this Indian occult school was withdrawn, after the lapse of millenniums,
to the heart of the Himalaya mountains, the outer vesture remains in
India to-day.

"The Upanishads contain all wisdom," a Master has said, as
recorded in The Secret Doctrine, "they no longer reveal it." The
Upanishads are, in fact, in their most vital part, the very ritual of
Initiation brought from Egypt, and later translated into Sanskrit. They
embody both the Greater and the Lesser Mysteries, and much of their
substance is cast in the form of dialogues between Guru and Chela,
between Master and disciple, or disciples. Such are, for example,
Prashna Upanishad ("A Vedic Master"), the episode of Chhandogya
Upanishad containing the teaching "That thou art," and the superb
section of the Brihad-Aranyaka Upanishad which has been translated
under the title The Song of Life, a title borrowed from that supremely
occult book, Light on the Path. While the dialogues in the great
Upanishads lead up to the Great Initiation, one only, Katha Upanishad,
gives the actual substance of the Great Initiation. It is, therefore, in
a sense, the highest of all occult scriptures; and one is struck, at the
outset, with the likeness of its plan to that of another document of
very different character, the Apostles' Creed.

"He descended into Hell and rose again the third day," may stand
as a description of the progress of Nachiketas, the candidate for the
Great Initiation in Katha Upanishad, the type of all Initiates. Nachi-
ketas is the son of Uddalaka Aruni. His father has offered a sacrifice
of cattle, an ineffectual sacrifice. He at last determines to sacrifice his
son. Exactly the same idea is expressed by St. Paul, who speaks of

NOTES AND COMMENTS 5

the sacrifices of the Temple, likewise sacrifices of cattle, as being super-
seded by the sacrifice of the Son, whom the Father sent into the world.
The same thought is contained in the parables, where the King, after
he has sent his servants, sends his son, who is put to death.

There are two meanings contained in this symbol; indeed, many
meanings, among which two stand out. The first is the universal,
macrocosmic : the creative Logos is the Father. The Logos, having sent
the lesser creatures into incarnation, sees that this is an ineffectual
offering. "Nature unaided fails." Then the Logos sends the divine
soul, which is, in truth, the Logos himself. This is the incarnation of
the Solar Pitris, the Manasa Putras, spiritual man. The soul descends
into the House of Death : into incarnation ; and dwells there "three
nights." These are the "three times," past, present, future; the three
facets of the great Illusion of Time. When this illusion is conquered,
the soul rises again to the immortal world, and enters into the Great
Beyond.

There is also the individual meaning, the personal history of the
Candidate for Initiation. Here, the cattle first offered have their
symbolic meaning. They are the senses, the bodily powers, which graze
in the pastures of the natural world, the fields of sense activity. An
austere ascetic may offer the sacrifice of the senses in the fire of self-
control. But he may thereby merely strengthen his self-will, his wilful-
ness, as many ascetics have done. This is true of the class called in India
Hatha Yogis, or Yogis of the market-place; and this is the reason why
certain extreme forms of penance are forbidden by the Bhagavad Gita.

The disciple must sacrifice, not his senses, but himself. He must
offer up the lower self in the fire of perfect self-denial, self-abnegation,
to the Higher Self. In this sense, the Higher Self, as Father, sends the
personal self, the son, into the world ; and the son must willingly submit
himself to crucifixion. He must enter of his own will, which has for
this purpose become one with the will of his Father, into the House of
Death. He must descend into hell, to rise again the third day.

There are preliminary trials. These are dramatically represented, in
those dialogues of the Lesser Mysteries in the Upanishads, already
described; the Initiator offers the candidate three wishes. These are
exactly the same, both in substance and in purpose, as Christ's temptation
in the wilderness. It seems certain that that great Initiate himself
enumerated these temptations to his disciples; casting them, as is the
invariable method in all records of the Mysteries, into the form of a
dialogue between himself and the tempter.

In the Katha Upanishad, the tempter is one with the Initiator, the
Master who tries and tests his disciple. The name given to the Initiator
is Yama, Death, Son of the Sun. Yama, according to the tradition of
India, was the divine King of the first human race which was fated
to taste death ; the earlier human races, the first and second and the earlier
third, having had no death in our sense, since they lacked the dense

6 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

material vesture which is subject to the throes of dissolution. King
Yama, therefore, when the time came for men to die, himself accepted
the first ordeal, and first descended into the house of night, where he
has ever since reigned as King.

He passed the trial first himself, as every Master does ; in the most
literal sense going through the whole experience in his own person, and
thus, if the metaphor may be allowed, pre-digesting it for his disciples.
This is true in general of the whole of the disciple's training. It is
supremely true of his Initiation, which is the goal and climax of that
training. Therefore Yama, who first offered himself and passed through
the pains of death, is the forerunner and type of every subsequent
Master, the Lodge as a whole passing in advance through all the experi-
ences which are pre-ordained for humanity for ages to cdme, up to
the culmination of Nirvana.

The order of certain parts of the Katha Upanishad appears to have
been purposely confused. What are really the preliminary trials — sons
and grandsons, long life, wealth, the gifts of beauty — now stand after
the passages which record the ceremony of Initiation. That ceremony
begins with the first wish of Nachiketas. He asks for reconciliation
with his Father. This includes two things : first, the Father stands for
the sum of his past Karma, an account which must be balanced and
closed before the Great Initiation can be entered; second, the Father
stands for the Higher Self; the son, the personal life, must be at-one
with his Father, the Higher Self. This is the true etymological meaning
of at-one-ment, or atonement.

The second wish concerns the heavenly world. The Initiator reveals
the heavenly world to Nachiketas, in all its majesty and splendour. This
is, in the deepest sense, the critical point in the Great Initiation, far
more vital and decisive than the earlier trials. For that heavenly world
is no less than Nirvana. The new Initiate has fairly won it, and is,
in a sense, fully entitled to enter in, to dwell in immeasurable bliss for
measureless time.

Yet if the new Initiate accepts that right and elects to enter into
Nirvana, the Initiation has, in a certain high sense, failed; and he, the
Nirvanee, has also failed. But he succeeds in the supreme spiritual
sense, if he refuses all the splendours of Nirvana, and elects instead to
return to earth, to take up of free will his part of the heavy burden
of the world's bad Karma, which is the sum of mankind's wilful disobe-
diences, with all the penalties that they entail. Then he joins the active
ranks of the world's Saviours, who suffer that enduring pain of which
Prometheus speaks.

The third wish of Nachiketas, to know "what is in the Great
Beyond," is thereon granted. For the Great Beyond is the mysterious
life, of terrible toil yet of great and ever increasing delight, which the
Master enters when he has passed beyond Nirvana; when he has
renounced and laid aside his right and title to that supreme and fully

NOTES AND COMMENTS 7

earned reward. Little remains to be said concerning the Katha
Upanishad. The whole heart of the theme is contained in these three
wishes, with the symbolic narrative leading up to them. But much
remains to be done. Those who would tread that path must read,
mark, learn and inwardly digest the teaching. They will find there
faithfully represented their own trials and temptations; the abnegation
and sacrifice which are demanded of them; and some foreshadowing
of the surpassing reward : the goal which those seek who offer sacrifice.

// a Bhikkhu [disciple] should desire, brethren, to exercise one by
one each of the different Iddhis: being one to become multiform, being
multiform to become one; to become visible, or to become invisible; to
go without being stopped to the further side of a wall, or a fence, or
a mountain, as if through air; to penetrate up and down through solid
ground, as if through water: If a Bhikkhu should desire, brethren, to
hear with clear and heavenly ear, surpassing that of men, sounds both
human and celestial, whether far or near, let him then fulfill all
righteousness, let him be devoted to that quietude of heart which springs
from within, let him not drive back the ecstasy of contemplation, let
him look through things, let him be much alone! — BUDDHIST SUTTAS.

FRAGMENTS

EVERY created thing, whether material, or of the mind, or of the
feeling, is intended to carry us to God, as it comes from God.
If we find that any one of these, in any department of life,
has another tendency, the tendency toward self; if we use it
merely for enjoyment, or discussion, or to fill time, or to deaden grief
or ennui, or for occupation, or from habit, or from any motive not
springing from the love of God, and not leading to Him, it can have
no proper place in the life of a disciple, and must be surrendered until
it can be so used. It is otherwise misuse of creatures, and prostitution
of self ; and seen in that light we must realize that it is devilish. There-
fore all books of religious instruction insist on detachment from crea-
tures; for only by seeing God in and through them can we ever truly
see them on the one hand, or ever rightly use them on the other. When
in all created things we find the expression, not only of His spirit, but
of His mind and heart, we may freely give ourselves to them as steps
to Him — to a better understanding of Him and love of Him.

This is true also of service. For if our service of others does not
spring from love of God, it must inevitably spring from love of self
(some subtle form perhaps), and all it accomplishes is to increase self-
love. This nature and relation of service is little understood to-day,
when service is worshipped for itself alone, and like all forms of
idolatry is heathen and contains the seeds of death.

To understand the humanity of Christ is to understand the Incar-
nation, and to understand the Incarnation is to understand that Christ
exists in all things, and to find Him there; but it must always be Christ
that we worship. So we pray to be saved from the blindness, the
sin of idolatry. "Thou shalt have none other gods but me."

The lower nature of man translates this into terms of negation,
insisting on the hard wood of the Cross, and refusing to see its glory, —
as one might consider the chemical atoms of a sunset sky, and ignore
its colour and loveliness. But to find Christ throughout created life,
is to find eternal beauty and eternal joy, as through Him we find
the radiance of immortality in what were otherwise the blackness of
death. CAVE.

A STONE OF THE FOUNDATION

IN a little suburb of the city of Geneva, where the Alps descend to
the open country stretching back from the lower end of the lake,
there stand the buildings of a once famous school. In the long

list of its former pupils one may read names that have made
history in every quarter of the globe ; sons of great English families and
of the old order in France ; Italians, Austrians and Americans ; a Prince
of Abyssinia, and a Khedive of Egypt. But among them all there was
one only that I wished to find, or cared to linger on, as I turned the
leaves of the roster backward through the years : the name of the friend
who had taken me there on that brilliant summer day — the name of
Clement Acton Griscom.

We stood together in the shade of a great plane tree, looking out
over the play-ground and the orchard beyond, toward the city of Calvin
and Servetus, of bitter theological controversies and burnings, and then
back to the hills, climbing tier on tier to the far distant heights and the
hidden snows of Mt. Blanc; and he told me of the months he spent
there, in his childhood before I knew him, a very troubled, homesick little
boy, left alone for the first time with strangers in a strange and very
foreign place.

He was too proud to let his schoolmates guess his misery. Some
of them called him "Fatty," and teased him for his insatiable appetite
and American ways. But there was one kind and silent teacher whom
he trusted, and whose room became his daily haven. Each evening, in
the free hour before bed-time, the door of the master's study would
open softly, and a fat little boy would slip through and steal silently
over to a stool in the corner, behind the tall white porcelain stove. There,
hidden in the shadow, he would give way to the tears and loneliness he
had denied himself all day, and would cry his heart out, unbetrayed.
The master never appeared to notice. Nothing was said — no word or
touch of comfort either asked or given — but the boy knew his secret
was safe. And when the bell rang, and the time for crying was past,
his little knuckles would rub away the tears, and a brave will would
silence his sniffles and command his quivering, childish lips to firmness,
as he went out to face again boldly the big, foreign world of his school.

It was a very different world from that which he had known before ;
very different from the Friends' day-school, on Race Street in Phila-
delphia, where he had been sent when he was four, and where, whatever
the tumultuous adventures of the daily journeys thither, there was always
the period of silent worship, when the utter stillness of the senses brought
stillness also to the heart. I suppose he thought as little of religion as
do most healthy boys, but there was something, vaguely associated in
his mind with religion and the Bible, that he knew he had had among

10 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

the Friends and which he missed and wanted, as he now wanted every-
thing he had had at home. He tried to pray, in his corner behind the
stove, but in the teacher's bent back and scratching pen there was no
power to help him to the inner stillness the Friends' Meeting had brought ;
and, as the weeks and months passed, this need pressed upon him more
and more strongly, till it took shape in his mind as the desire for a Bible —
as the conviction that he ought to buy an English Bible.

Each boy of the school received a small allowance for pocket money,
and at intervals they were permitted to go into Geneva to spend it. The
greatest attraction was a pastry shop, close to the first of the bridges
over the Rhone. All manner of goodies could be purchased there;
and when some had been gulped down in the shop, to be absolutely
sure of them, the rest could be slowly sucked, "to make them last
longer," while hanging over the stone parapet of the bridge, watching
the proud grace of the swans on the placid surface of the lake, or the
swift rush of its waters as they poured into the channel of the Rhone.
It is a very virulent case of homesickness whose pangs can endure
while the mouth is full of sweets; and the pastry shop brought tem-
porary surcease from more than one kind of hunger to our lonely little
American. But to buy a Bible meant many weeks with no francs or
sous for cake and candy; no time of comfortable fullness and forget-
fulness in the shop or in the sunshine on the bridge. This he knew;
for he had asked at a book stall and been shown "the very English
book the little gentleman wanted," a large, sumptuous volume, bound
in full brown levant. He thought it was what he wanted; for it was
instinctive to the magnanimity of his nature to know that whatever
ought to be done ought to be done handsomely. But the price was
staggering.

He did not tell me the details of his struggles. We have no record
of the inner dialogues — the beginning of those "Talks with my Brain"
which readers of the QUARTERLY were later to know — such as Krishna
had with the despondent Arjuna before he would consent to fight. But
they form themselves, untold, in the imagination. Where was the need
of a Bible, when one could have sweets? And what was the good of
a Bible, if it meant no sweets; if it were to take away the only bright
spots in the whole long week? It would have been easy enough could
he have made his purchase when he felt the need for it, in the evening
twilight of the master's study, with his heart aching for any touch of
home. But to have a holiday and make it no holiday at all, to go into
the city with his money in his pocket, hunger gnawing at his middle,
and the very taste of buns and tarts rising from memory to his palate;
to watch his fellows enter his palace of delights and to make an excuse
not to follow them; to return later to press his round face against the
window, and see the pink and white icing on the cakes ; to have the odor
of fresh baking in his nostrils, and to turn empty away ; to hang, empty,
on the parapet, or walk desolately on to the book stall, even there only

A STONE OF THE FOUNDATION 11

to be able to look at the unexplained, unintelligible object of his sacrifice,
and to know that it must still be weeks before it could be his; to do
all this, not once but time after time, telling no one, aided by no one,
and for no other reason than that of blind obedience to the feeling that
it ought to be done : only those who have never resisted temptation, never
obeyed anything but their own will and whim, will say that this was easy.

The volume lies before me as I write, the memorial of his faithful,
lonely sacrifice, the token of his enduring victory. His name is scrawled
in childish script upon its fly leaf. The solid richness of its binding
is unscarred by the lapse of years. But the letters that are stamped in
gold upon it, tell of the working of hidden forces deeper than we
can read. For it was no Bible at all, but a Church of England Prayer
Book, which the high gods let that dishonest bookseller pass off upon
the little Quaker, who could not find the silence that was all he knew
of prayer. It was only long afterwards that he discovered he had been
cheated, and that the Prayer Book and the Bible were not one and the
same.

But as I touch this early keepsake, and let it take me back to those
childish days of my friend's first search for the Path that would lead
him home, to those brave pilgrimages to the book stall, his little hand
holding fast to his money as he passed the pastry shop, I think of Titian's
great painting of the Presentation of the Virgin, and of the immortal
splendour wrapped in the pathos of that lonely little figure, in its
gorgeous, jewelled robe, climbing alone the long, long flight of steps
that rise to the waiting priests and the unknown temple door.

It was in the late autumn or early winter of 1884 that Mr. Griscom
first heard of Theosophy. A big, blond College boy, playing center rush
on the varsity football team, rowing on the college crew and winning
prizes for putting the shot and throwing the hammer, he stood as high
in his studies as in his sports, and at this time was saturated with
Berkeley's Idealism and the political economy of John Stuart Mill. One
evening the conversation turned upon standards of conduct, and two of
his friends fell into a hot discussion as to the real aim of human life.
At first young Griscom was silent, but grew more and more intent as the
talk progressed, for a view of the meaning of life and of its possibilities
was being presented such as he had never .had opened to him before.
And it was true! Before he knew its name or what it was, he knew
its truth ; and his whole soul leaped forth to meet it in instant recognition.
Where it was challenged, he took the challenge up ; and breaking into the
discussion met each objection with an answer that was as new to his
own thought as to the questioner's, yet which seemed to rise of itself,
fully formed and familiar, in his mind.

When the talk was interrupted, as, somehow, such discussions always
are, young Griscom fell again into silence; and there was an unusual

12 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

earnestness in his manner as he bade good-night to the friend whose
views he had championed.

He was rewarded by receiving, soon after, a copy of Sinnett's
Esoteric Buddhism, and sat up all night reading it in tense excitement.
He bought every book and pamphlet on Theosophy that he could find,
including, either then or shortly afterward, The Occult World, which
had just been published, and Madame Blavatsky's two large volumes of
Isis Unveiled. Going to his room immediately after dinner, he would
read far into the morning hours, with that power of complete bodily
stillness and entire oblivion to time and surroundings which characterized
his mental concentration. His response was immediate and complete.
What he read was true. And the truth was not matter for intellectual
interest or assent, but was the goal of life, to be sought with all he was
or could become. He sent in his application for membership in The
Theosophical Society, and went to New York to see Mr. Judge.

I like to think of that first meeting between those two, which was
to mean so much in the life of each. I see again the patient, burdened
builder upon the rock of sacrifice, who for ten long years had given of
his best; sometimes to empty benches; sometimes to those who only
sneered at what they deemed his gullibility or self-deception ; more often
to queer, freakish men and women, understanding nothing of his real
ideals and hopes, but seizing the opportunity the Society offered for the
exploitation of their own wild dreams and theories ; yet here and there,
and one by one as diamonds from banks of clay, finding the souls he
had been sent to find and who could know and take fire from his own.
I like to think of the day Mr. Griscom came to that great, tired seeker
of souls, and how, like sunshine, his youth and sanity and overflowing
vitality and enthusiasm must have filled that dark and rather dingy office
in Nassau Street where Mr. Judge practised the law and laboured at the
work of the Society. I like to think of all it meant: to Mr. Judge, to
Mr. Griscom, and to the many hundreds of others who, like me, have
had their hearts lit for them by the light that passed between those two,
thirty-four years ago.

At the Convention of The Theosophical Society a year ago, Mr.
Griscom spoke of the first such gathering he had attended, — that held
in Chicago in 1888, where Mr. Judge presided and to which Madame
Blavatsky sent a long and interesting letter, of which Dr. Keightley was
the bearer. Of all those who were present then very few, if any, beside
himself and Dr. Keightley, were left ; and he alluded to the great changes
that had taken place in the world in the intervening period, and the
"almost inconceivable differences in the Society." Yet he had been struck,
he said, on rereading certain paragraphs which Mr. Judge had written,
"as a sort of valedictory and a word of greeting to the future," by the
fact that he himself could have read them to that later Convention as
his own report and hope, so pertinent were they to present day conditions ;

A STONE OF THE FOUNDATION 13

and he added : "The great lesson of Theosophy is that what is true, is
true for all time and places. . . . This is what I particularly
like about his [Mr. Judge's] message of thirty years ago, 'You want
watchwords for the coming year, take faith, courage, constancy.' I
cannot conceive of anything at the present time that could be better
watchwords for us."

As we look back over the long road that the Society has travelled,
over those grave hazards where death took toll of the steadfast and the
unstable fell away, as we consider the "almost inconceivable differences"
in the thought of the world and in every external condition of the Society's
activity, we can understand something of how firm must have been the
hold upon the spirit and principles of Theosophy that could maintain
them as a living power, unaltered and unobscured, through all those thirty
years of change and toil and stress. "Faith, courage, constancy." They
were Mr. Griscom's watchwords, even as they had been Mr. Judge's
before him ; and, in larger part than could be known to any but the very
few, it is to this — to the extent to which Mr. Griscom made his spirit
one with the spirit of his first great leader and teacher — that we owe
the continued existence of The Theosophical Society to-day.

It was because of this, also, that when Mr. Griscom moved to the
vicinity of New York — and later into the city itself — his home became
one of the most real and vital centres of the whole Theosophical move-
ment. Mr. Judge came there as to a haven of rest; for there he was
sure of such understanding and love as enabled him to be himself, without
disguise or restraint. It became his habit to take Sunday supper there,
and to spend the evening. But often he would stay for weeks at a time,
going into the city with Mr. Griscom in the morning, but returning again
in the afternoon. It was during such a visit as this that I first met
Mr. Judge, and though I was then not a member of the Society, and so
was seldom present when the work was discussed, memory holds many
pictures of him in this home where he loved to be. I can see him with
the children on his knees, drawing pictures for them on one of those little
pads of which he always seemed to have an unlimited number in his
pockets. It was on them he would write the brief, unexplained notes to
the students whom he trusted ; sometimes containing only a reference to
a chapter or page of a book, but which, when looked up, would throw a
flood of light upon the untold subject of their recent meditations or upon
some theme they had been discussing in his absence. I can see him
unpacking barrels of china and arranging the books, when Mr. Griscom
moved into town ; or, in one of his "wild Irish boy" moods, sitting on the
floor and gravely trying to put his heel behind his head. But the picture
that comes to my mind the most constantly is of his sitting with Mr.
Griscom listening to the piano — in a silence so deep and still that it became
part of the music — and to this day I cannot hear La Paloma, or certain
of Mendelssohn's Songs without Words, without thinking of Mr. Judge
in Mr. Griscom's home.

14 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

What that home must have meant to him of rest and cheer and
renewed hope for the ultimate victory of his mission, can only be known
by those who know how dark and threatening those years were, when,
with Madame Blavatsky gone, the Brahmins had seized upon Mrs.
Besant's weakness and turned her into their instrument for the destruction
of the work. It is difficult for us to account for the black treachery with
which Mr. Judge was surrounded — so that one of his closest associates
searched his desk and papers in his absence, for "evidence" that could
be used against him — because we can scarcely realize how bitter was
the attack, and how constant and insidious the propaganda of innuendo
and misrepresentation to which he was subjected. But it is only as we
do realize this that we can understand the debt the whole movement
owes to those whose loyalty could not be shaken, and whose unswerving
fidelity to the truth, through all the cloud of lies, turned the tide in
America and maintained the work unbroken even in England.

One will search in vain through the official reports of the Conventions,
or in the early volumes of the periodicals, for any mention of Mr. Gris-
com's part in the affairs of the Society. His name does not appear.
Being the same as his father's, it was a point of honour with him not
to permit it to become publicly associated with Theosophy so long as his
father lived. This prevented him from accepting any official position in
the Society; but what he was, in and of himself, gave him a de facto
position, at the heart of its work and councils, which was of far greater
significance, and in which his courage and initiative, scarcely less than
his rock-like fidelity and firm hold upon principles, proved of incalculable
service. All through the winter of 1894-95 Mr. Griscom was in constant
correspondence with members of the Society in the endeavour to counter-
act the attacks upon Mr. Judge; and it was at his house in New York
that the preliminaries were arranged for the Boston Convention. Mem-
bers had come on from all parts of this country and Canada, and not a
few from Europe, including Dr. and Mrs. Keightley, who had passionately
defended Mr. Judge both in public and private, and who brought all that
was best from the English centre, of which they were to be the main-
stay for decades to come. There was also a group of talented Irish
members, who published the Irish Theosophist, but who, lacking stability,
were later swept away on the psychic whirlwinds let loose by Mrs.
Tingley. In the informal meetings at Mr. Griscom's home the way was
prepared for the formal action of the Convention — the answer the
American Section was to make to all who questioned Mr. Judge.

It was the last Convention of Mr. Judge's life. He died on March
21st of the following year, and in the ensuing weeks Mr. Griscom's
home was again the centre of endless conferences upon all aspects of
the work, preparatory to the great convention that packed the Garden
Theatre, and where Mrs. Tingley first claimed the public prominence

A STONE OF THE FOUNDATION 15

that proved her undoing. In the "Crusade" which she inaugurated — the
tour around the world for the purpose of lecturing and organizing
branches, so that, in outer fact as well as in inner spirit, The Theosophical
Society might be the meeting place of all beliefs and races of men —
she took with her many of those upon whom the regular work of the
Society had rested, and a double burden fell upon the remaining few.
No small part of this, particularly as it concerned the Society's finances,
devolved upon Mr. Griscom, in addition to the very heavy responsibilities
that his business position entailed.

A break-down in health followed, and early in 1897 Mr. Griscom's
physician ordered him away for a rest and recommended an ocean voyage.
He went to Honolulu, meeting Mrs. Tingley's party there and returning
with them to San Francisco, but then left them and returned to New
York.

What he had seen and learned had confirmed fears for which there
had been growing cause. Mrs. Tingley had assumed more and more
the functions of leadership, and owing to the publicity she was receiving,
was using her unusual gifts and marked abilities to build up a following
that would be completely under her personal dominance. The situation
became such that Mr. Griscom felt constrained to withdraw from active
participation in the Society's councils.

Almost immediately he became the object of attack and innuendo.
The workers at the Society's headquarters — who had been in the habit of
spending the week-ends at his home — were now sending him warning
messages of his "disloyalty," and were apparently forbidden to come near
him lest the contagion spread also to them. It would have been laughable
had it not been for the real affection which Mr. Griscom bore them, and
which made their blind surrender of their principles an even deeper
grief to him than their personal attacks upon himself — though these
were carried to the extent of writing slanderous accusations against him
to his family. He still hoped, however, that some miracle might right
the situation; and motived by loyalty — the deep, fundamental loyalty to
principles without which no loyalty to individuals is possible — he did not
fear when called disloyal. Having done what he could, he waited in
silence for the indication of the Masters' will.

Events moved quickly. A Convention of the Society was called at
Chicago for February 18, 1898, at which Mrs. Tingley's followers, over-
riding all protests, proclaimed a change in the name and constitution of
the Society, and gave unrestricted power over the new body into her
hands. She thus removed herself from The Theosophical Society; but
she took with her nearly everything that had given it external mani-
festation : the majority of its members, its organization, headquarters,
lists, records, press, magazines, and practically everything it owned.
She left only its reality and its name.

Immediately following the morning session at which this action was
taken, a meeting was held of those delegates to the Convention who could

16 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

not be stampeded, and who had been denied any vote or hearing. In the
words of the report of this meeting, resolutions were proposed and
seconded to the effect that inasmuch as the action taken that morning
"constituted a practical abandonment of the Theosophical Society in
America, it became the duty of those who abided by the constitution of
the Society to carry on the Convention in accordance with the constitution,
and proceed to elect officers to serve until the Branches and members
could be communicated with." This was done; so that on the very day
of the final disruptive assault, the work of rebuilding was commenced.

The period of reconstruction was to prove long and onerous. Mr.
Griscom and his associates had none of the administrative machinery
which Mr. Judge had slowly created as the membership had increased.
Lists, clerks and secretaries were alike lacking; and from that day to
this the work of The Theosophical Society has been done wholly by
volunteers as a labour of love. Neither was Mr. Griscom a man of leisure.
His business affairs demanded his constant attention, kept him long hours
at his office, and entailed very heavy and anxious responsibilities from
which he was never free. It was his Sundays and his evenings only that
he could give to the work of the Society, and these hours were all too
short for what was now demanded. Every present or former member
of the Society, who could possibly be reached, was entitled to a clear
statement of the actual facts and issues — that they might not be left to
follow in ignorance a guide who had betrayed their trust. Though this
would, in any event, involve an enormous correspondence, it was obvious
that it could not be done by correspondence alone ; and Mr. Griscom was
convinced that the first need of the Society was for a magazine that could
serve also as its official organ and means of communication with its
members.

Mr. Judge's old magazine, The Path, had been first rechristened
Theosophy and then Universal Brotherhood, under which title it was
being carried on by Mrs. Tingley. But The Theosophical Forum, a little
sixteen page monthly started by Mr. Judge in 1889 as a medium for
questions and answers, had been discontinued in August, 1897, and the
only obstacle to reviving it was the labour and expense its publication
and distribution would involve. These Mr. Griscom himself assumed.

He had had no experience as editor or author, but with the simple and
bold directness that characterized all his decisions — and which found
expression in his maxim, "The only way to do anything, from running
steamships to stopping smoking, is to do it" — he set himself (and his
friends, whether they would or no!) to the production of a magazine.

I hope I shall never lose from memory the pictures that are stored
there of Mr. Griscom making up those early issues of the Forum; sitting
in the centre of his living room before the folding card table, covered with
red baize, on which were spread his pins and paste and shears, the ivory

A STONE OF THE FOUNDATION 17

foot-rule — with the burn from a cigarette at the end — the dictionary, and
piles of copy. (It was before he learned to use the typewriter, as the
work soon required him to do, so that it was not in evidence as in later
years, when the dictionary could be dispensed with, and editorial routine
was no longer an adventure.) To enter that room was like entering the
magician's castle of some ancient fairy legend, for one would find a
goodly company of companions — all, indeed, who had passed that way
before one — sitting under an enchantment that was immediately to fall
upon oneself. No sooner did one cross the threshold than a sheaf of
manuscript would be extended, and a cheery voice would say, "Hello,
James Henry Alexander, just count the words in that, like a good boy" ;
and before one knew it one would find oneself seated, mumbling num-
bers, like the others.

It seems a simple enough thing now, to get out sixteen pages a
month, but it was not s6 simple then ; and it meant almost the difference
between life and death to the Society; for those pages were, for a time,
almost its only corporate activity. And they contained much of great
and lasting value. Mr. Johnston contributed the series of "Oriental
Department Papers," in which many of his translations from the
Upanishads were first published, and much of the first volume of Cave's
Fragments also first appeared in the Forum. The old "Question and
Answer Department" was continued, as well as the outlines of topics
for Branch discussion ; but the scope of the magazine was broadened,
and less technical articles were also included.

In addition to reviving The Theosophical Forum, Mr. Griscom was
very desirous of providing for the continued publication and sale of
theosophical books. Mr. Judge's personal copyrights, and interest in
the publishing business he had built up, had become the property of
individuals by his will, so that they had been saved from the general
loot of the Society that had been accomplished at Chicago. The sale
of books was, therefore, still possible, and was at first continued under
an agreement with The W. Q. Judge Publishing Co. With the disso-
lution or reorganization of this company, however, it became necessary
to make other provisions; and after a series of more or less unsatis-
factory arrangements with different publishing concerns, Mr. Griscom
decided that the only real solution of the problem lay in adding a book
and publishing department to the magazine venture. As the Society
had neither the funds nor the desire to embark upon so hazardous
a financial enterprise, Mr. Griscom undertook it himself, putting up the
initial capital, and using the proceeds of sales, as they accrued, for the
publication of other works. As the business increased from year to
year, it became necessary to give it more formal organization, and the
result is The Quarterly Book Department of to-day.

In the summer of 1899, after the Forum was firmly established and
when, by means of it and incessant personal correspondence, the scat-
tered Branches and isolated members of the Society had been knit

18 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

together into some semblance of a working body, Mr. Griscom's health
again broke down, and it was not until January of 1901 that he was
able to resume continuous work. He was compelled to surrender the
editorship of the Forum during his illness, and never again resumed it.
Under his successor it had been increased from sixteen to twenty pages,
but the "Question and Answer Department" as well as the "T. S.
Activities" and "Subjects for Branch Discussion," had been dropped;
and though the articles printed were very valuable and interesting, there
was less to mark the magazine as an organ of The Theosophical Society,
or to make the members feel that it was peculiarly their own. Mr.
Griscom was convinced that the Society, and particularly the isolated
members-at-large> needed the medium for discussion and exchange of
views that the "Question and Answer Department" had afforded; that
the members liked to know what other Branches and members were
doing ; that they should be helped and guided in their studies ; and that
elementary articles, written for those who were just -beginning to be
interested, and setting forth the primary principles of Theosophy, would
be of real assistance to the whole movement.

Acting on this conviction, in July, 1903, he started the THEOSOPHICAL
QUARTERLY, having obtained the consent of the Executive Committee
to publish it, as by their "order," for the benefit of the members —
himself assuming, as previously with the Forum, the financial responsi-
bility for its expense beyond whatever sums the Society might feel
justified in contributing to its support. As stated in the first issue, it
was "not designed to compete with but to supplement The Theosophical
Forum/' and was planned to comprise Notes and Comments, Reprints
from valuable articles no longer easy of access, Elementary Articles,
T. S. Activities, Questions and Answers, Reviews, and a Correspon-
dence Class.

The first issue consisted of forty large pages — even larger than
the present format, as the line of type was an inch longer, — and the
magazine proved a great success from the start. With his Quaker gift
of "speaking to the condition" of his hearers, Mr. Griscom addressed
no imaginary audience, but wrote and conducted the magazine directly
for the needs of the Society's members. As the circulation grew beyond
the Society itself, he broadened the scope of its contents, keeping its
purely theosophical character and departments, but making its appeal
more varied and universal. At the Convention of 1905 the Society
voted to discontinue the Forum as a separate publication, and to make
the payment of the annual dues of membership cover the subscription
to the QUARTERLY, — which had indeed always been sent free to all
members, but up to that time there had been no formal arrangement
whereby the Society should contribute to its expense. This action of
the Convention put the magazine upon its present basis.

There should be little need to tell the readers of the QUARTERLY
what the magazine has accomplished in the years of its existence, or

A STONE OF THE FOUNDATION 19

what it has meant in the history of the Theosophical Movement. Mr.
Griscom loved and planned for it as a mother loves and plans for her
child, and made the spirit of his own discipleship live and breathe
through all its pages, a quickening contagion of the soul. Its sixteen
large volumes are but one of the many monuments of his labour, yet
are they truly "more lasting than bronze"; for though the print fade
and the paper crumble into tatters, yet what they gave the world will
remain, for in it is the immortality of the soul of man.

Nor is it possible in this sketch — where the biography of a great
soul and the history of a great movement must be inextricably inter-
woven— to review the long list of articles from Mr. Griscom's own pen
that the QUARTERLY contained. It is hoped that they may be collected
and republished in book form. His "Elementary Articles" alone would
make a volume of the highest value, serving both as a primer of the
theosophical philosophy and as a practical introduction to the science of
self-conquest and the religious life. Yet they constitute but a fraction
of the total. He wrote under many pseudonyms, G. Hijo, John Blake,
Menteknis, The Pilgrim, as well as using one or more of his initials,
as in the reviews, or the last articles he wrote, "Vanity" and "Why
should I want to be a Saint ?" And his themes were even more varied :
stories, the product of a very fertile and active imagination, such as
"The Mark of Istaphan"; scenes of the inner world, as in "The Battle
Royal" or "War Seen From Within"; essays on the principles of gov-
ernment and political economy, such as "The Magic Word Democracy" ;
studies in the lives of the saints or in the history of the movement
in former centuries; and a long series of ascetical writings beginning
with "Talks with my Brain" and ending with "Vanity," in the January
issue — the last number he was himself to send to press.

He wrote very rapidly, rarely if ever at a loss for the word he
wanted; indifferent to form, in his concentration upon the essence.
And in consequence, his meaning is never lost or obscured in its
expression. He used words and was not used by them — as one feels
of so many writers whose thought appears dominated by the vehicle
that should convey it. He leads his hearers at once to the heart of
his theme, and draws the outline of its essential features with sure,
bold strokes. His work is vibrant with his own personality — with
the singleness of heart and purpose, the virility and direct simplicity of
his own attitude toward life — and on every page one feels the sure
touch that comes only from first-hand personal experience of the facts
with which he deals. It is this which gives to his ascetical writings
their quickening inspiration, and an appeal that is at once universal and
immediately personal. He had the rare gift of wise and discerning
spiritual direction, and in private correspondence, which grew to great
proportions through the years, he helped members of many different
countries and of many different creeds, to find and follow "the small
old path that leads to the Eternal." His teaching must be judged by

20 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

its fruits; and time alone can reveal their full magnitude and worth.
Yet they must depend not only on him, not only on the sower and the
seed, but also on the ground where the seed was spread; so that the
measure of his success still rests with us, and with those who come
after us, the heirs of his inheritance. But in themselves and of their
own kind, his writings constitute as practical a guide to the initial
stages of discipleship, as penetrating an analysis into the workings of
human nature and of the hidden forces and tendencies which the disciple
must master, as has been given to the world in our generation. He
wrote, not what he had been taught, but something of what, having
been taught, he had himself lived.

Immediately following the Chicago Convention of 1898, and as a
part of the work of salvage and reconstruction, the effort was made
to continue public Branch meetings of the Society in New York. They
were held in Mott Memorial Hall, which, with its rows of sombre
medical works in glass cases, seemed painfully suggestive of the surgery
through which the Society had just passed; and though the meetings
were faithfully attended, until the coming of summer caused their sus-
pension, it was evident that this surgery had been far too drastic to
permit of active outer work until after a longer period of inner
recuperation. The experiment was repeated several times in the
following years with but little success, and it was not until the autumn
of 1904 that the inner life of the movement had been so renewed and
consolidated that the New York meetings became really vital. Even
then, they were not public meetings. Mr. Griscom and his associates,
together with such friends, not members of the Society, as were inter-
ested, met quite informally each fortnight in the rooms of one of their
number, and spent the evening in the discussion of religious topics.
There were no formal addresses, but someone would open the discussion,
and the friendly and sympathetic atmosphere drew all to talk freely.
It was a practical demonstration of the theosophic attitude and method,
and proved a real success. Other groups were formed, in all of which
Mr. Griscom participated, working on the same principles but with dif-
ferent people and with different subjects of study. One such group
spent three years in the study and discussion of the Sermon on the
Mount and the principles of discipleship that it implies.

As the years passed and duties multiplied, while the number of
evenings in the week remained inexorably at seven, it became necessary
to consolidate the meetings, and their size outgrew the capacity of an
ordinary living-room. Mr. Griscom then secured the studio building
in the rear of his house, and fitted it to serve as a permanent centre
of the work and as a place of meeting for the New York Branch.

Some of these earlier meetings were instrumental in leading to
far-reaching developments. Shortly after, the active outer work for

A STONE OF THE FOUNDATION 21

the Christian Church opened to the group of which Mr. Griscom was
a member. They began in a little mission chapel, and from then on,
Mr. Griscom and his fellows laboured to create in it a living centre
of true religion.

One can understand nothing of this work, indeed one can under-
stand nothing either of Mr. Griscom's life or of his accomplishment,
if it be not realized that such work as his must always be group work,
in which self is sunk in a fellowship and a cause that is infinitely
greater than self. Behind it all was the Master's will and hand; and
it was because "two or three" gathered together in His name, that what
was done could be done.

But they had much to contend with : — materialism ; the socialism
that is the admixture of materialism and sentimentality; ignorance and
unreasoning prejudice; and the smallness that cannot tolerate the pres-
ence of what is bigger than itself. But despite all, their centre has
continued, a growing evidence of the power of the Living Christ and
of aspiration to His discipleship — a discipleship whose meaning and
whose possibility Mr. Griscom's life alike makes clear.

HENRY BEDINGER MITCHELL.

God asks not, "To which sect did he belong?"
But "Did he love the right and hate the wrong?"

— ANON.

CLEMENT ACTON GRISCOM

TO write a recollection of Clement Griscom is no light task, for
there seems so much to say and so few words with which to
express it. I believe we first met in 1891, for I do not recall
him in Chicago in 1888 or 1889. We met occasionally in the
T. S. Headquarters before Mr. Judge went to England after H. P. B.'s
death, and it was only after Mr. Judge's death that we met more fre-
quently— though not so frequently as I wished. Others can and will
speak of the details of his work and life. At this distance these details
were unfamiliar to me save occasionally. But in spite of this distance,
the void made by his absence is enormous. It feels as if the front wall
of the house had fallen out. Quietly and steadily, for over twenty years,
Clement Griscom was the Atlas who had patiently upheld the globe of
the external movement on his shoulders. Perhaps this sounds like
exaggeration, and we know well there are many who have aided. But
those who know the work of the T. S., know also the quiet, steady and
steadfast persistence with which he worked day after day and year after
year, till over thirty years have passed. Some know the difficulties he
encountered and conquered : all can feel grateful to him for his work in
the Society and on the QUARTERLY, which gave to others a foundation on
which to stand and work. It was said by one of the wise ones a long
time ago that the resuscitation of the Movement demanded unflinching
will and determination on the part of those who held the position which
Clement Griscom held. And he met the need, going on from duty to
duty, and fulfilling them all till they became his pleasure. Thus living,
he has gone to prepare for further duties in a new life; while we who
are left for a time are rejoicing in his promotion to higher duties, though
regretting for ourselves the passing of a noble soul. Instance after
instance could be given of the essential reliability of the man, and of the
kindly and wise help which was ever given when he was called upon.
Some advice might not be "agreeable"; but essentially one knew that he
never wished one to do what he was not prepared to do himself, and that
his guide in all the advice he gave was the query, "What would the
Master do?" ARCHIBALD KEIGHTLEY.

It was in the year 1903 that I met Mr. C. A. Griscom in London
and had the pleasure of associating with him for a few days. From this
meeting up to the date of his early departure, we were intimate friends,
though we never met again personally. How to explain that friendship
after such a short acquaintance? I can only say that from the very first
meeting I was drawn to him with the feeling of having met a real friend.

22

CLEMENT ACTON GRISCOM 23

And so he was, — a friend to whom I am indebted for much advice and
suggestion of a personal nature.

His deep insight in the art of living and in the needs of the soul, and
his whole-hearted devotion to the cause of The Theosophical Society and
the welfare of mankind, I need not mention. These things are well known
to all who associated with him, or who read with some attention
his articles in the THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY. But I wish to draw atten-
tion to a distinctive feature of his, viz. the warm sympathy that
sprang from his loving heart and made one feel at home with him at once.
He attracted me with a power not seen but strongly felt. And as sympathy
of that kind will rouse the same feelings in another heart, and must be
reciprocated, I had to be attached to him.

It was my sincere hope and wish to see him again personally, but it
was not to be in this incarnation. Meanwhile, to me he is not lost. He
was my friend, and he will continue to be so forever, though he has now
passed away from this plane of existence. T. H. KNOFF.

The Chief is dead; no more may I look up into that warrior face,
with its eyes of love and courage; eyes through which looked forth
that gallant soul — warrior and sage, father and guide and confessor.
The Chief is dead. I have lost him — the best of friends; a friend
comprehending, understanding, tender, bravest of the brave; unsur-
passed in honesty of thought and reason, word and deed — the peer of
any in selflessness.

How much I owe him! Was it business counsel? From him, you
knew, could wise guidance be obtained. Had one been confused in
understanding? From him, as from a lighthouse, came the red warn-
ings of danger and the white light which cleared one's way. Were one
immersed in self, then, like a surgeon's cleansing knife, came his direct
statement, protected against the septic dangers of reaction by the pro-
phylaxis of his love, — a love I have never known to fail. Often I
merited and received, criticism and correction, but never once were these
tainted with unfairness of any kind. Mr. Griscom was more than
truthful ; he was just. Consequently, it was impossible to doubt his love.
He made it impossible.

His faith was marvellous. He seemed incapable of despair. When
it seemed to me as if all were lost in business, or in hope for a soul,
or in other tests I have seen him undergo, Mr. Griscom never flinched,
never doubted, never despaired.

The pain of his loss increases. But I remember how simply Mr.
Griscom spoke of pain, on a rare occasion when I had him all to myself.
It was sunset of a lovely day in autumn, and it seemed as if castles and
chateaux stood out against the glowing west. He was not speaking of
himself, he never did speak of the pam which he himself bore so serenely;

24 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

some of us had come to recognize his days of suffering by a singular
beauty and gentleness that shone from him then. He said that there
were two ways of meeting pain. One way was to refuse to be affected
by it — to use the will to ignore it. This, he explained, was the opposite
of Christian science which, in denying pain, affirms a lie; while this
metHod of resistance says, in effect, "Yes, hurt if you want to, but what
of it? I will go on, though you hurt as much as you please."

The second method was to enter into the pain, to go along with it,
seeking to understand it, to give one's self up to it, and thus to learn
its lesson. "For," Mr. Griscom said, "there is a loving lesson for us in
each and every thing that happens, be it big or little, if only we have
the courage to seek for the lesson and for the love within it. I think
we find this spirit in some of the saints, leading them to seek all that
lies within pain, including joy."

And now I try to seek for the lesson in this great event, yes, and .
for the joy, and all that comes is a rush of pain and longing and a
thousand personal memories. What is the lesson? Surely the The-
osophy which Mr. Griscom taught and lived must help me here! He
taught me that I am here in the body to learn certain lessons, and
that the Master is too wise and too loving to let me go forward leaving
the lessons unlearned — the kind, good Law forbids that. If I remain
lazy, self-indulgent and extravagant, and refuse to learn the lessons of
obedience, how may I hope to continue unbroken that dear relationship
with the Chief which was and is my joy?

Do we want to be with him again, — to serve under him in the
Cause he loved, serving with and for those whom he loved, and whom
he himself served? Then let us face the future, armed with what he
taught us, doing what he wished, trusting in the Master who led the
way. Mr. Griscom showed us the immortal footprints, and told us whose
they are. Now he has followed on: shall we not justify his faith, his
love, his efforts for us, and follow too?

But we know our faults. How dare we hope? Must not self-
examination make inevitably for despair? A parable, if I may so call
it, occurs to me. Let us place ourselves back in the days of the Maid
of France. Suppose I were one of those who failed her; who- in
cowardice left her alone in the hands of the foe; left her to die her
martyr's death alone — could I ever really have loved her as my leader
had I still done nothing, save to steep myself in remorse and shame?
In time would not her death and her love for France have united to
create in me a desire, at the least, to die for her by fighting for France ?
And is it not possible that, in time, my sorrow and contrition, if rightly
used, might have made me a better fighter and less of a coward than
I had ever been? We know that the cowards who left the Maid to die,
became the instruments of fulfilling her prophecies, driving the enemy
out of France and doing it by fighting. It did not bring the Maid back.
It did justify her life. It won her Cause. We cannot bring Mr.

CLEMENT ACTON GRISCOM 25

Griscom back, but, surely, we can do our part to justify his life and
his sacrifices, if it be only to fall fighting for his Cause.

Mourn him — yes — and perhaps with breaking hearts, but never with
faltering hearts. And the more we enter into the pain, seeking to under-
stand its lesson, the nearer we may perhaps draw to the Master, the
living Master and teacher, whom Mr. Griscom so lovingly served. If
we become "as little children," at least trying to be good children in
that divine relationship, may we not trust Him to let us meet again
that dear, faithful, tender, and trusting big brother of ours, a big
brother so wise and big that he was "brother at once" and father.
What if it means self-sacrifice, self-surrender, yes, and suffering : would
that be too big a price to pay for seeing that big brother of ours
smiling upon us once more?

With all his knightliness and imagination and romance, Mr. Gris-
com was, however, pre-eminently practical. How he could cut through
a web of phantasy and sophistry, bringing out the need for will rather
than for mere feeling; and how he could do it in one flashing, Quaker-
clear sentence of common sense ! Let us ask ourselves, therefore, —
what is the practical thing we can do to make our sorrow dynamic,
rather than self-indulgent and cowardly?

What do we think Mr. Griscom would consider left unfinished, —
not merely in our own lives, for that might prove selfishly narrowing,
but in the lives of others also? Are there not places where he will be
missed? How may we serve? Was there not work he was interested
in, where we may help? How about The Theosophical Society? If he
gave us Theosophy from both head and heart are we to let it die or shall
we strive to let others share the treasures he passed on to us? What
was the Cause he served? Who was the Master he followed? May
we not make them ours ?

Can we not all but hear him ask us — smiling, yet not wholly unstern :
"Well, you think you are feeling deeply, but just what are you going
to do about it?" Are there not others whose death will harrow our
souls and tear our hearts? What may we do for them to-day? Are
there those whom he loved, whom we too may serve?

Have we never heard Mr. Griscom speak of his living Master and
friend, and of the fact that the Passion continues unto this day, because
of our sins and failures ? Need we further add our share to the world's
weight of sin and despair that makes the crucifixion permanent? May
we not take our sorrow that the Chief is dead and use it to re-dedicate
our lives to the Master whom he served, striving to make of ours what
we know he made of his life, and thus, perhaps, giving Mr. Griscom
the pleasure of smiling once more upon those who would run to meet
him as his "children"?

I feel that he taught me all that I really need for this life. Hence,
it must be that he has told me how to satisfy this great desire. What
may I find in the treasure house of the memories of his teachings

26 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

that shall prove a key to the gate of my hope? How widely he taught
me: I have ample material from him to build myself into a better
father, son, and brother, a more faithful friend, a more earnest student,
a better business man, — a maker of resolutions and a keeper of vows;
yes, and above all, with him as exemplar, a fearless, fighting, Christian
gentleman. In each of these aspects of a practical student of applied
Theosophy and of a disciple of the Master Christ, he stood four-square
and unafraid. Surely he who loved us so, has not left us to seek in
blindness the path to reunion with him. What may we do to recognize
him when next we meet?

There are many of us who are positive that we have been with
him before, though there may be no definite brain memory of it in this
life. It is perhaps more a matter of flavour. But more than that, has
there not been some unity in devotion, — feeble on our part, and imitative,
yet seed of the Seed which he had received?

There is The Theosophical Society, and all that it stands for and
includes. Madame Blavatsky and Mr. Judge have told us of the part
it is to play in the future. If we saturate ourselves with Theosophy;
prove untiring in our service to and in the T. S., faithful as students
of the Divine Wisdom so generously placed before us, and if we seek
in all ways opportunities to live up to our obligations and privileges, —
surely we shall "carry over" readiness to rejoin the Theosophical Move-
ment in heart and brain and body. Can we doubt that Mr. Griscom
will be part of it?

Then there is his devotion to his Master, and to His undying warfare
against the Devil and all his works: may we not seek to share with
him in this, until the flame shall burn out the transitory and unreal,
leaving only the permanent and true, so that we may recognize our
eternal kinship with him, and know and love our big brother anew?

In short, may we not build within our lives a vehicle that shall
carry our love and us across the Bridge of Death to meet him? In
his "Elementary Articles," in "Vanity," in a score and more of essays
and addresses, Mr. Griscom has left us the material, and instructions
for its use, to build such a vehicle — a "new man" — dying and living
in Christ. G. W.

EDMUND BURKE

THE STATESMAN FOR THE PRESENT CRISIS

"Of this I am certain, that in a democracy, the majority of the citizens
is capable of exercising the most cruel oppressions upon the minority,
whenever strong divisions prevail in that kind of polity, as they often
must; and that oppression of the minority will extend to far greater
numbers, and will be carried on with much greater fury, than can almost
ever be apprehended from the dominion of a single sceptre. In such a
popular persecution, individual sufferers are in a much more deplorable
condition than in any other. Under a cruel prince they have the balmy
compassion of mankind to assuage the smart of their wounds; they have
the plaudits of the people to animate their generous constancy under
their sufferings; but those who are subjected to wrong under multitudes,
are deprived of all external consolation. They seem deserted by mankind,
overpowered by a conspiracy of their whole species."

Reflections on the French Ret'olution.

"The share of infamy, that is likely to fall to the lot of each individual
in public acts, is small indeed; the operation of opinion being in the inverse
ratio to the number of those who abuse power. Their own approbation
of their own acts has to them the appearance of a public judgment in their
favour. A perfect democracy is therefore the most shameless thing in
the world." Ibid.

THROUGH the course of history, as most of us studied it, in
schools and since, attention was called to the steadily rising wave
of "the People." Wat Tyler and Jack Cade, William Langland,
the author of "Piers Plowman," Chaucer's Wyclifite Parson —
these return to memory as Promethean martyrs, pioneers of the dumb
who had not yet made the amazing discovery that their voice (their votes?)
speaks the will of deity — "vox populi vox dei." The wave was in evidence
in old Roman days too, as Menenius Agrippa's fable of the belly testifies —
and various Consuls also, who endeavoured to allay its danger by pouring
on the oil of agrarian and other reforms. The efforts of Huss and
similar evangelizers added momentum to the wave, and it was impelled
mightily forward by the Protestant Reformation. We see it engulfing
Charles the First in England. That was a mere tentative essay of its
force. Its triumph came later, — in France of the Revolution. Since
1789, "the People" have swept all in full tide. What kings and royalties
remained, remained as a curious relic, preserved by "the People" to
mark the contrast between former times and present. These effete
monarchies were really monuments to "the People's" strength — tolerated
because fangless.

Today, the Karma of our own disobedience, our misplaced and
sentimental sympathy, our insubordination, overtakes us. We are
fortunate if we can face it, recognize the past, and forever obliterate
it, so far as we are concerned. Today, "the People" stand revealed

37

28 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

in natural colours. The euphemistic names they bore, quasi religious
and philosophical, — with which we blinded and deluded ourselves, —
were euphonious stage names for vulgar reality. They are Mob,
and in too many cases, — Thieves and Murderers. They justify their
crimes by the wholesale scale on which they are committed.

We must expect to form a very small minority, if we endeavour to
right our past mistakes of judgment. There are few people today who
regard the French Revolution other than as a great and commendable
event. Professor Harper of Princeton University may be taken as an
example of what would be called the intelligent, sober, common sense,
average view. Professor Harper, writing on Wordsworth's connection
with the Revolution in France, expresses this opinion : "The net result
of the work of the Constituent Assembly was such as to win the approval
of all French patriots and of nearly all progressive Englishmen, Burke
being one of the few notable exceptions. What generous and emancipated
spirit could fail to applaud its great achievements?" The majority of
people would be astounded to hear that the French Revolution may not
have been a beneficent event. Such people may frown upon the Russian
Bolsheviki. They may regard the Bolsheviki as a hideous perversion of
their ideal ; — but they do not even surmise that the Bolshevist movement
is a logical consequence of their ideal which, in fact, is a very material
one. Proof of this is the defensive reservation with which officials and
newspapers mention socialism. They have accepted socialism (such is
the implication) as axiomatic; they denounce corrupt socialism, mani-
festing in I. W. W. riots, draft objections, etc. A reasoned-out attitude
may gradually win some of these people of right intentions. They will
discover how slightly their hearts have accepted the equalitarian theories
of the head. And the uncompromising processes of the mob, that make
academic Arcadias safe for the mob, and for the mob only, will complete
the rectification of opinions.

The process of disillusionment will still be slow. The Catholic
Church, with a certain hold upon fundamental truths, in spite of its
intolerable scheming, will indicate the right direction to a few of its
devout members, who, waking to the fallacy of chimerical republican
panaceas, know that anarchy can offer them no refuge.1 Others will
move very slowly to realize naked facts. The spontaneous congratu-
lations from most quarters, when the Russian republic was announced,
are proof of the prejudices to which men are born. There was no
inquiry as to how the revolution was accomplished, or what precautions
had been taken for the future of the state. The feeling was only that the
final stage of governmental blessedness had been worked out. There
were a few to whom the news called up other pictures, — that of the

1 Marcel Gaveyron, a young Savoyard who died in battle, wrote this in a letter from the
front: "II est effrayant de voir combien les idees ont et6 faussees et deVices du vrai et du bien,

par la vulgarisation des principes chers aux philosophes de toute nuance qui se sont attaques au
catholicisme. II est a craindre que les esprits, desabuses des chimeres republicaines, ne versent
dans le socialisme revolutionnaire, plutot que d'aller abreuver aux vraies sources de la vie."

EDMUND BURKE 29

Princesse de Lamballe, for example. This lady was so loyal to her
sovereign that, after a successful escape, she refused to enjoy freedom
alone, and returned to share the captivity and fate of her monarch. In a
public court room she refused to abjure her sovereigns. The mob
rewarded her courageous loyalty by tearing her to pieces as she left the
court-house, and by gloating over her naked members. Happy those
who share her loyalty, and, if need be, her fate !

Edmund Burke is a teacher for those who feel that the present
socialistic trend is wrong, but who have no reasoned out philosophy of
government to put in place of what they condemn. As Professor Harper
has noted, Burke was almost the solitary prominent man of his age not
to be deceived by the Revolutionary glamour. At no stage of its career
did he give to the Revolution applause, sympathy, or trust. He feared
and hated it as embodying the forces that uncivilize. He had studied
it to its root. He is able to help us of a later century, because the present
social revolution is only another offshoot from the same evil root.

An estimate of Burke that is not unusual is this : As a young man
he was a promising prophet of liberty ; but with age, he grew morose and
conservative, and reversed his early righteous judgments. Not only
Americans, but even some Englishmen hold this view of him. As an
American opinion, it. would be quite understandable. Within the last
thirty years American schools, public and private, have drilled into their
pupils' heads the speech on Conciliation. Few of that army of students
(the parents of to-day) have read anything else of Burke's. Few of them
know anything about the speech itself, save that it is reputed a good piece
of rhetoric, and that it was in favour of America against England. One
can see how easily American prejudice would jump to a conclusion, — the
conclusion, namely, that Burke was almost an American, in love of
liberty and hatred of kings. To reasoners of this kind, Burke's position
toward affairs in France would seem morose and insane as well as
inconsistent.

In fact, it is rare to meet a workman in any field so consistent as
this great political philosopher. During his life he was busied with large
and small details of government, correcting abuses, pushing reforms,
etc., etc. He gave himself generously and whole-heartedly to these
large and small affairs. He worked over them with pains and fervour.
It mattered little to him whether the consequence of the issues in which
he engaged was fateful or negligible. They were important because
they expressed in some degree a principle of government. The pettiest
detail might thus take on an eternal significance, — for right or for
wrong; it might be of vital importance that an evil principle should be
thwarted and a right one vindicated, even in a trivial manifestation. But it
was the principles that touched him, in heart and mind, and called forth
his aspirations and efforts. In very early youth he discovered two
opposing principles, — of government and of life. He put himself on the
side of one, and opposed the other, consistently and vigorously until his

30 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

death. In 1756, when he was 27 years old, he published his first philo-
sophical writing on society and government. It was in the form of a
satire. One of the English "free thinkers," Bolingbroke, from whom the
French "liberators" drank copious draughts, had just been published,
posthumously. Bolingbroke's point of view was that man needs nothing
more to achieve spiritual greatness than to follow the instincts of his
nature. The name "natural" religion was given to this system. It
was meant to do away with the restraints and regulations of Christian
and other religions, that were placed, in opposition to it, as "revealed"
religions. Bolingbroke's doctrines might be suitable for Kumaras and
other spirits who have won the final victory over the lower nature.
But for double-natured man such doctrine is poison. It would mean the
easy triumph of the lower nature. Burke recognized this pernicious
doctrine, and how grateful it would be to the lower nature. He wished
to strike it a blow, not frontal, but in the rear, by applying Bolingbroke's
method to government, where he thought its absurdities would be
obvious. He would show that "natural" man is in a state of perfect
innocence and complete happiness, and that all the miseries of humanity
arise out of artificial political laws and arrangements which cramp pure
motived man on one side, as the artificialities of revealed religion cramp
him on the other. To this end Burke wrote his "Vindication of Natural
Society," a satirical arraignment and condemnation of law and organized
society. "How far mere nature would have carried us, we may judge
by the example of those animals, who still follow her laws, and even of
those to whom she has given dispositions more fierce, and arms more
terrible, than ever she intended we should use. It is an incontestable
truth, that there is more havoc made in one year by men of men, than
has been made by all the lions, tigers, panthers, ounces, leopards, hyenas,
rhinoceroses, elephants, bears, and wolves, upon their several species,
since the beginning of the world ; though these agree ill enough with each
other, and have a much greater proportion of rage and fury in their
composition than we have. But with respect to you, ye legislators, ye
civilizers of mankind ! ye Orpheuses, Moseses, Minoses, Solons, Theseuses,
Lycurguses, Numas! with respect to you be it spoken, your regulations
have done more mischief in cold blood, than all the rage of the fiercest
animals in their greatest terrors, or furies, has ever done, or ever
could do!" The satire is extravagantly obvious in this paragraph. In
others, where it is stated with less burlesque, it escapes the attention of
those whom one would like it to reach. It seems truth to them. It
was complete absurdity to Burke's clear vision. But it is the spontaneous
speech of revolutionists. And from soap boxes in New York, one can
to-day hear arguments that are word for word like those Burke wrote,
in mocking scorn, a century and a half ago. "If political society, in
whatever form, has still made the many the property of the few; if it
has introduced labours unnecessary, vices and diseases unknown, and
pleasures incompatible with nature; if in all countries it abridges the

EDMUND BURKE 31

lives of millions, and renders those of millions more utterly abject and
miserable ; shall we still worship so destructive an idol, and daily sacrifice
to it our health, our liberty, and our peace"?

The arguments of this satire are of very minor importance. But it
is important as revealing Burke's clear recognition of two opposing
forces, a. spiritual and a material. He gave his allegiance as a young
man to the spiritual forces of life, and he never swerved from that
allegiance. "Man in the state of nature" was to Burke a creature just
tolerated by the mercy of God. No arguments as to right and wrong
could be based upon so wretched a creature. Burke sought truth at the
other pole of the universe, in God. He found it there. He was
constantly alert to the dangers of the "state of nature" point of view.
And he combated them vigorously. He was convinced "that a mind,
which has no restraint from a sense of its own weakness, of its subor-
dinate rank in the creation, and of the extreme danger of letting the
imagination loose upon some subjects, may very plausibly attack every-
thing the most excellent and venerable; that it would not be difficult to
criticize the creation itself; and that if we were to examine the divine
fabric by our ideas of reason and fitness, and to use the same method of
attack by which some men have assaulted revealed religion, we might
with as good colour and with the same success, make the wisdom and
power of God in his creation appear to many no better than foolishness."

The French Revolution broke out when Burke was sixty years old.
It was not necessary for him to make any right-about-face of principles
at that crisis. The Revolution was an open manifestation of the evil
forces he had early discovered as working both on the outer and on the
inner sphere of life. He applied his principles, — principles not of his
own devising, "but moulded into the nature and essence of things" —
to this riot of insubordination; he applied them with energy, with his
utmost force, because he felt that civilization and the cause of righteous-
ness were at stake. He pointed out the causes and conduct of the
Revolution and the motives of the Revolutionists, as causes and motives
have rarely been pointed out.

Since Burke's attitude in the dispute between the colonies and
England furnishes occasion for the charge of inconsistency that is often
brought against him, it will be well, before taking up his later work, to
understand just what his attitude and sympathy were, — what reservations
should be made upon the assertion that his feeling as expressed in the
speeches on Taxation and Conciliation, is an all-American feeling.

He saw human society as a whole, and the individual nations that
make up that whole, as living things, organisms, animated by the life
principle, just as an individual man is.

"Society is indeed a contract. Subordinate contracts for objects of mere
occasional interest may be dissolved at pleasure — but the state ought not to be
considered as nothing better than a partnership agreement in a trade of pepper
and coffee, calico or tobacco, or some other such low concern, to be taken up

32 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

for a little temporary interest, and to be dissolved by the fancy of the parties.
It is to be looked on with other reverence; because it is not a partnership in
things subservient only to the gross animal existence of a temporary and perishable
nature. It is a partnership in all science ; a partnership in all art ; a partnership
in every virtue, and in all perfection. As the ends of such a partnership cannot
be obtained in many generations, it becomes a partnership not only between those
who are living, but between those who are living, those who are dead, and those
who are to be born. Each contract of each particular state is but a clause in
the great primaeval contract of eternal society, linking the lower with the higher
natures, connecting the visible and invisible world, according to a fixed compact
sanctioned by the inviolable oath which holds all physical and all moral natures,
each in their appointed place. This law is not subject to the will of those,
who by an obligation above them, and infinitely superior, are bound to submit
their will to that law. The municipal corporations of that universal kingdom are
not morally at liberty at their pleasure, and on their speculations of a contingent
improvement, wholly to separate and tear asunder the bands of their subordinate
community, and to dissolve it into an unsocial, uncivil, unconnected chaos of
elementary principles. It is the first and supreme necessity only, a necessity that
is not chosen, but chooses, a necessity paramount to deliberation, that admits
no discussion, and demands no evidence, which alone can justify a resort to
anarchy. This necessity is no exception to the rule; because this necessity itself
is a part too of that moral and physical disposition of things, to which man
must be obedient by consent or force: but if that which is only submission to
necessity should be made the object of choice, the law is broken, nature is dis-
obeyed, and the rebellious are outlawed, cast forth, and exiled, from this world
of reason, and order, and peace, and virtue, and fruitful penitence, into the
antagonist world of madness, discord, vice, confusion, and unavailing sorrow."

The hidden principle of life manifests itself in states as growth,
development — growth from a beginning toward an ideal preconceived
for each state. The conventions, customs, traditions, laws, and religions
of a country are, in the main, those which it has found by experience
to be convenient and suitable in its growth. The difficulties and crises
which Burke had to consider concerned states that had a background
of history, — England, France, India, etc. They were not new countries.
Hence conservatism was his manner of action, — to follow the example
and analogy of the past, — to be very wary of radical changes. "A
disposition to preserve, and an ability to improve," he wrote in one place,
"would be my standard of a statesman." His toleration in matters
religious is one example of this conservatism. He not only disapproved
the jealousies of rival sects in Christian countries, but he advocated a
very liberal toleration : "I would give a full civil protection, in which
I include an immunity from all disturbance of their public religious
worship, and a power of teaching in schools as well as temples, to Jews,
Mahometans and even Pagans, especially if they are already possessed of
those advantages by long and prescriptive usage."*

In this conservative frame of mind Burke studied the internal and
colonial and foreign relations of his country. George III became King
in 1760. In 1770, Burke wrote his pamphlet entitled Thoughts on the

Correspondence.

EDMUND BURKE 33

Cause of the Present Discontents. The conclusion of his study was:
England is disturbed because the King has disregarded national tradition
which makes the House of Commons depend upon the people at large.
Four years later the question of colonial taxation came up. What is
Burke's summary of the position? Is it not frankly that George Ill's
policy is contrary to tradition? And may it not be true that Burke's
position was taken as much from imperial sympathy as from American?
The colonies seemed to him part of the Empire's natural growth. A
distemper at the heart of the Empire (the monarch's disregard of
traditional financial policy) was manifesting itself in a susceptible part, —
the colonies. Burke wished to check the spread of the disease and to
save the affected member of the body politic. He did not wish the
Empire to lose either its moral or material greatness. Is not this the
animating spirit of his American speeches, rather than a Jeffersonian
theory as to the "rights of man"? He was deeply sympathetic with
the grievances of the colonists. He said they would not be Englishmen,
if they tolerated the King's scheme. He deplored the efforts of the
Crown to stir up the Indian tribes against the colonists. But, plainly
as he expressed these feelings, he expressed also just as plainly, the doubt,
whether a venture in a new form of government would, in the long
run, prove successful. "Untried forms of government may, to unstable
minds, recommend themselves even by their novelty. But you will do
well to remember that England has been great and happy under the
present limited monarchy (subsisting in more or less vigour and purity)
for several hundred years. None but England can communicate to you
the benefits of such a constitution. We apprehend you are not now,
nor for ages are likely to be, capable of that form of constitution in an
independent state. Besides, let us suggest to you our apprehensions
that your present union (in which we rejoice, and which we wish long to
subsist) cannot always subsist without the authority and weight of this
great and long-respected body, to equipoise, and to preserve you amongst
yourselves in a just and fair equality. It may not even be impossible
that a long course of war with the administration of this country may
be but a prelude to a series of wars and contentions among yourselves,
to end, at length, (as such scenes have too often ended,) in a species of
humiliating repose, which nothing but the preceding calamities would
reconcile to the dispirited few who survived them."

Burke's position in the American crisis under George III is to be
described, then, as imperial rather than as revolutionary or American.
He respected in the colonists a traditional English spirit toward a
trespassing monarch. The "rights of man," and non-monarchical or
anti-monarchical ideas were not even discussed. Indeed the frame of
mind of the colonists in 1776 ought to be called English. When their
conflict was over, and the infant states had won their point, it seemed
almost a matter of chance whether a monarchy would be established or
not, so unpronounced at that time was the feeling against it. The more

34 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

recent American attitude of jealousy and suspicion toward England and
toward monarchy, formed later on, as the anarchic revolution proceeded
in France, and as there arose in America an erroneous desire to give
itself a glorious past, independent of English history, by magnifying a
small domestic dissension to the extravagant proportions of a world
conflict.

The troubles that started in France in 1789 were altogether different
in kind from the American dispute over taxation. The American
Revolution was wholly a family misunderstanding. It was a question of
domestic policy. It troubled Burke as a grave disturbance, a disorder to
be set right. But it could not be regarded as more than a national
question. The utmost principle at stake was a national tradition concern-
ing taxation. In the pages of universal history that domestic altercation
could fill but small space. But the principles at stake in the French
Revolution are of universal and cosmical significance — they are the same
principles of obedience against insubordination for which Michael and
his angels fought Lucifer. Another phase of the same age-long conflict,
embodied this time in the cause of the Allies against Germany, seemed
about to issue in victory for the White Lodge when the evil Armistice
intervened, with anarchy in its train, to wrest for the Black Lodge, if
possible, the victory that could not be obtained by force of arms.

Edmund Burke's thorough analysis of the situation in 1789 may
illumine those who are honestly seeking a guide through the chaos and
anarchy that are the fruit of the Armistice. If they are honest seekers,
he will help them discover the unsuspected Bolshevism that lurks in the
governmental theories they have hitherto regarded as eminently
respectable, Christian, and progressive.

Burke's political philosophy will help only those who are seeking.
To quote it or preach it to those who are content with their sugar-coated
Bolshevism, acknowledged or latent, will only infuriate or mystify.
Because Burke's philosophy and practice proceed from a spiritual view
of life, the recognition of a God as supreme, and of man as a creature
dependent upon God. But with what dignity, actual and potential, does
that Creator endow his dependent, giving him as goal, Divine perfection,
and entrusting to him much of the effort to win that goal ! Burke saw
government as one of the aids compassionately granted by God to man
in the struggle toward perfection.2 "Every sort of moral, every sort of
civil, every sort of politic institution, aiding the rational and natural
ties that connect the human understanding and affections to the divine,
are not more than necessary, in order to build up that wonderful
structure, Man ; whose prerogative it is, to be in a great degree a creature
of his own making; and who, when made as he ought to be made is
destined to hold no trivial place in the creation." Government thus

1 "They [English men of thought] conceive that He who gave our nature to be perfected by
our virtue, willed also the necessary means of its perfection. He willed therefore the »Ute."

— Reflections on the French Revolution.

EDMUND BURKE 35

becomes a "right" of the higher nature which Burke was almost alone in
championing, against the "rights" of the lower nature, otherwise called
the "rights of man."3

One finds little speculative discussion in Burke upon the forms of
government. For though he was a great philosopher and metaphysician,
his metaphysics were the solid substructure of consistent and symmetrical
practice. He might be called a great practitioner. His principles were
ever present in thought as the guide and criterion by which to judge the
events taking place around him. He was so confident of the eternal truth
and immutability of his principles, grounded, as he felt them to be, in
life itself, that he did not draw them out constantly to the light for
revision and reformation. He gave himself to the righting of endless
details of state, so that the state might more truly manifest the eternal
principles of government. Theorizing was distasteful to him. Hence
there is practically no reasoning as to what in the abstract is the best
form of government. That, he would say, is altogether a relative
question, to be decided only by knowledge of the people and their country.
He was familiar with the past history of the world and judged it, as he
judged present events, with reference to his principles. He drew helpful
conclusions from past history, but did not derive from it his principles.4
He might have found in language an analogy with government. Language,
too, would seem to be a divine gift to man ; but languages arise each one
from the genius of its people.

Burke had, unconsciously, enough of the Theosophical attitude, to
understand that this is true also of Religion and religions. "The body of
all true religion," he wrote, "consists, to be sure, in obedience to the will
of the sovereign of the world ; in a confidence in his declarations ; and in
imitation of his perfections. The rest is our own. It may be prejudicial
to the great end; it may be auxiliary. Wise men, who as such are not
admirers (not admirers at least of the Munera Terrae) are not violently
attached to these things, nor do they violently hate them. Wisdom is
not the most severe corrector of folly. They are the rival follies, which
mutually wage so unrelenting a war; and which make so cruel a use of
their advantages, as they can happen to engage the immoderate vulgar,
on the one side, or the other, in their quarrels." As with the forms of

3 "The restraints on men, as well as their liberties, are to be reckoned among their rights."

— Reflections on the French Revolution.

"Men are qualified for civil liberty in exact proportion to their disposition to put moral
chains upon their own appetites; in proportion as their love to justice is above their rapacity
Society cannot exist unless a controlling power upon will and appetite be placed
somewhere, and the less of it there is within, the more there must be without. It is ordained
in the eternal constitution of things, that men of intemperate minds cannot be free. Their passions
forge their fetters." — Letter to Member of National Assembly.

4 In a private letter to a friend, he wrote : "My principles enable me to form my judgment
upon men and actions in history, just as they do in common life, and are not formed out of
events and characters, either past or present. History is a preceptor of prudence, not of
principles. The principles of true politics are those of morality enlarged. . . . The
principles that guide us in public and private, as they are not of our devising, but moulded into
the nature and essence of things will endure with the sun and moon, — long, very long after
Whig and Tory, Stuart and Brunswick, and all such miserable bubbles and playthings of the
hour, are vanished from existence and from memory.

36 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

religion, so the forms of government, likewise originate from the genius
of peoples. While Burke was too liberal in his culture to wish to
impose any special form of government upon nations in general, and
too practical to wish to make the world in general safe for oligarchy (or
any other system) he had a natural reverence for the British plan of a
monarchy, a nobility and a represented populace.5

One point must be made entirely clear. When Burke said that
forms of government originate with peoples, he was not making of
"the People" the divinity that is worshipped to-day. He was speaking of
the nation at large. For he recognized grades of life in nature and
classes of men in society. He saw "the People" as the weakest and most
unwise of the community, incapable of right judgment and action save
under controlling leadership. In a private letter, that mentions the
indifference of the populace at a certain crisis he wrote : "The people
are not answerable for their present supine acquiescence; indeed they
are not. God and nature never made them to think or to act without
guidance and direction."6 He held that "the People" could be recog-
nized as a member of the body politic only when they were organized
under leaders who are their superiors. "To enable men to act with the
weight and character of a people, and to answer the ends for which they
are incorporated into that capacity, we must suppose them (by means
immediate or consequential) to be in that state of habitual social
iiscipline, in which the wise, the more expert, and the more opulent
conduct, and by conducting enlighten and protect, the weaker, the less
knowing, and the less provided with the goods of fortune." Burke
leaves no opportunity open for misunderstanding ; he uses the hated and
obsolete word, "aristocracy," to describe those who are the people's
guides. He says not only that aristocracy is a fact of nature, but that it
is the soul to the body, and without it a nation cannot exist; that, when
the masses are separated from their natural leaders they become an
adverse army of vagabonds, terrible as wild beasts, to be fought and
subdued before any security can exist. "A true natural aristocracy is
not a separate interest in the state, or separable from it. It is an
essential integrant part of any large body rightly constituted. It is
formed out of a class of legitimate presumptions which, taken as

* It was the delicate balance of the English system that pleased Burke. In Present Discon-
tents he wrote: "Our constitution stands on a nice equipoise, with steep precipices and deep
waters upon all sides of it. In removing it from a dangerous leaning toward one side, there
may be a risk of oversetting it on the other. Every project of a material change in a government
so complicated as ours, combined at the same time with external circumstances still more com-
plicated, is a matter full of difficulties." Elsewhere he writes: "To make a government requires
no great prudence. Settle the seat of power; teach obedience; and the work is done. To give
freedom is still more easy. It is not necessary to guide; it only requires to let go the rein. But
to form a free government, that is, to temper together these opposite elements of liberty and
restraint in one consistent work, requires much thought, deep reflection, a sagacious, powerful
and combining mind."

• "Let me wish my young friend ... to draw a useful lesson from the unprincipled
behaviour of a corrupt and licentious people: — that is never to sacrifice his principles to the hope
of obtaining their affections; to regard and wish them well, as a part of his fellow creatures,
whom his best instincts and his highest duties lead him to love and serve, but to put as little
trust in them as in princes." — Letter to John Burke, 1776.

EDMUND BURKE 37

generalities, must be admitted for actual truths. To be bred in a place
of estimation ; to see nothing low and sordid from one's infancy ; to be
taught to respect one's self ; to be habituated to the censorial inspection
of the public eye; to look early to public opinion; to stand upon such
elevated ground as to be enabled to take a large view of the widespread
and infinitely diversified combinations of men and affairs in a large
society; to have leisure to read, to reflect, to converse; to be enabled to
draw the court and attention of the wise and learned wherever they are
to be found; — to be habituated in armies to command and to obey; to
be taught to despise danger in the pursuit of honour and duty; to be
formed to the greatest degree of vigilance, foresight, and circumspection,
in a state of things in which no fault is committed with impunity, and
the slightest mistakes draw on the most ruinous consequences — to be
led to a guarded and regulated conduct, from a sense that you are
considered as an instructor of your fellow-citizens in their highest
concerns, and that you act as a reconciler between God and man — to be
employed as an administrator of law and justice, and to be thereby
amongst the first benefactors to mankind — to be a professor of high
science, or of liberal and ingenuous art — to be amongst rich traders,
who from their success are presumed to have sharp and vigorous under-
standings and to possess the virtues of diligence, order, constancy, and
regularity, and to have cultivated an habitual regard to commutative
justice: — these are the circumstances of men that form what I should
call a natural aristocracy."7

The existence of these two natural divisions in a state, a small
aristocracy of leaders, and a large body of the inexperienced, invalidates
the popular notion of equality of representation and a decision by
majority ballot. In a form of government that includes representative
bodies, the leaders must be given a consideration that quite outweighs the
arithmetical predominance of the mass of people. This attitude of
Burke toward the ballot is spiritual in that it regards men as centres of
moral forces, not as mere physical bodies. The French agitators had
declared that twenty-four millions ought to prevail over two hundred
thousand. "True," Burke answered, "if the constitution of a kingdom
be a problem of arithmetic." It is so much more than a problem of
arithmetic. It is a problem of the eternal welfare of a nation, of a
multitude of souls. The will and the interest of that multitude would
often be at variance, just as in the case of an individual. The result of
evil willing might be spiritual catastrophe. Therefore the multitude
should be carefully protected in the offices of its governors.

7 Burke writes elsewhere: "Nobility is a graceful ornament to the civil order. It is the
Corinthian capital of polished society. Omnes boni nobilitati semper favemus, was the saying of a
wise and good man. It is indeed one sign of a liberal and benevolent mind to incline to it with
some sort of partial propensity. He feels no ennobling principle in his own heart, who wishes to
level all the artificial institutions which have been adopted for giving a body to opinion, and
permanence to fugitive esteem. It is a sour, malignant, envious disposition, without taste for
the reality, or for any image or representation of virtue, that sees with joy the unmerited fall
of what had long flourished in splendour and in honor."

38 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

No matter what the form of government, king, nobles, and popular
representatives, all exist for the sake of the people — to lead the people
toward its Divine goal.8 This subservience of the monarch and the
leaders should not, however, be distorted for the evil purposes of the
lower nature; the king is the "servant" of the people in that he serves
the aims of their soul ; he is not the servant of their will. And he holds
his high position not through their choice, but in most cases through the
law of inheritance. Again Burke does not speculate or theorise about
this law or the original rights of some family to a throne. He finds the
law in operation. He gives his mind to discovering the wisdom under-
lying it. He finds it easily, — the law of inheritance guarantees to a man
the fruit of his labour. In a state, an inherited crown guarantees to the
populace the inheritance of their privileges and gains. One of his most
eloquent paragraphs points out the correspondence of this law with the
general course of nature : "This policy appears to me to be the result of
profound reflection; or rather the happy effect of following nature,
which is wisdom without reflection, and above it. A spirit of innovation
is generally the result of a selfish temper and confined views. People
will not look forward to posterity, who never look backward to their
ancestors. Besides, the people of England well know, that the idea of
inheritance furnishes a sure principle of conservation, and a sure prin-
ciple of transmission ; without at all excluding a principle of improvement.
It leaves acquisition free; but it secures what it acquires. Whatever
advantages are obtained by a state proceeding on these maxims, are
locked fast as in a sort of family settlement; grasped as in a kind of
mortmain forever. By a constitutional policy, working after the pattern
of nature, we receive, we hold, we transmit our government and our
privileges, in the same manner in which we enjoy and transmit our
property and our lives. The institutions of policy, the goods of fortune,
the gifts of providence, are handed down to us, and from us, in the same
course and order. Our political system is placed in a just correspondence
and symmetry with the order of the world, and with the mode of exist-
ence decreed to a permanent body composed of transitory parts ; wherein,
by the disposition of a stupendous wisdom, moulding together the great
mysterious incorporation of the human race, the whole, at one time, is
never old, or middle-aged, or young, but, in a condition of unchangeable
constancy, moves on through the varied tenor of perpetual decay, fall,
renovation, and progression. Thus, by preserving the method of nature
in the conduct of the state, in what we improve, we are never wholly
new; in what we retain, we are never wholly obsolete. By adhering in
this manner and on those principles to our forefathers, we are guided
not by the superstition of antiquarians, but by the spirit of philosophic
analogy. In this choice of inheritance we have given to our frame of

• "It is not the derivation of the power of that House (of Commons) from the people,
which makes it in a distinct sense their representative. The King is the representative of the
people; so are the lords; so are the judges. They are all trustees for the people."

EDMUND BURKE 39

polity the image of a relation in blood; binding up the constitution of
our country with our dearest domestic ties; adopting our fundamental
laws into the bosom of our family affections; keeping inseparable, and
cherishing with the warmth of all their combined and mutually reflected
charities, our state, our hearths, our sepulchres, and our altars."

Some of Burke's fundamental principles (or, as he called them,
"immutable and eternal") have now been shown. One may easily retort
that they are antiquated and obsolete, a mere prolongation of the ideals
of chivalry. But suppose these ideals be judged by their fruits. They
make for order. They teach high and low to seek and to recognize the
happiness that is to be found by virtue in all conditions. Without con-
founding ranks, they hand down this true moral equality through all
the gradations of social life. They teach the unfortunate to find consola-
tion in the final proportions of eternal justice. Opposed to this ideal and
practice, there is the monstrous fiction of liberty and equality, by
whatever name the governmental system may be called. A fiction,
because those who attempt to level, never equalize. Men are by nature
unequal. In every society some men must be uppermost. The following
of Burke's plan would place the worthiest in places of authority. The
popular ballot usually makes Barabbas uppermost. Those whose false
idealism would make the world safe for liberty, so-called, end by
inspiring false ideas and vain expectations in men destined to travel
in the obscure walk of life; thus they aggravate and embitter that real
inequality which they never can remove. They "change and pervert the
natural order of things ; they load the edifice of society, by setting up in
the air what the solidity of the structure requires to be on the ground."
The net result is anarchy, with murder, theft, and rapine unrebuked.

C. C. CLARK.

Listen to God, and follow His inward voice of grace; that is all.
But to listen one must be silent; and to follow one must yield. — FENELON.

RUNOTAR

IN the land where the long Northern twilight, with its sadness and its
secret longing, lingers over the stillness of the summer-night, the
land where the Rune-rods, carved deep into the granite sides of the

hills, whisper mysteries of bygone traditions, way up in Finland,
close to the mighty river Suomi, was living Runotar, the old Witch, who
was guardian of the Northern Song. Low and lonely was her cabin.
Lonesome and forsaken was her life within.

The rumour of her song was spreading out over the country. It
went from the forest into the cabins, reached the villages and entered the
great cities. In among the rattling machinery and the haste and fever of
industry and shipping, in among the merchants selling and buying, on it
went, this silent messenger of the Witch, of Runotar, hidden somewhere
in the heart of Nature.

People heard it, some laughing and mocking; some others respect-
fully kept silence, not knowing what to think. A few there were, more in
earnest, who heard the rumour and went into the forest to find the Witch,
and learn the secret of her song, but they all came back laughing. There
was no Witch. It was the roar of the great river Suomi, ringing through
the forest, and nothing else.

One day a young man, tired of life and gaiety, went deep into
Nature to find loneliness and to find rest. On he went. The rumour
of Runotar brought him farther and farther. He would find the Witch
and he would learn her secrets. Qose to the river Suomi he found her
cabin. Low and moss-clad it stood, hidden under the tall pine trees.
Footprints were there leading to and from this lonely dwelling. Light
and easy those which led to the cabin, heavy and burdened those return-
ing. With fear in his heart he stepped closer. With fear he entered the
cabin, saw the Witch, saw Runotar, the guardian of the Northern Song.

Long and earnestly did she look upon him, and he in fear returned
her look.

Was she an old withered woman or was she a fair, splendid beauty?
He could not tell. He did not know.

He stammered his message. He wanted from her the secret of her
Song. Long and far he had been looking for her, in the throng and rush
of the big cities, in the depth of the wine cups, in the dance and flutter of
the gay life, in the fire of a woman's eyes, but nowhere was Runotar, the
guardian of true song ; until one day he found the narrow trail, close to
the heart of Nature, which brought him to her cabin.

Runotar, the old Witch, saw his fear and saw his earnest purpose,
and she smiled upon him.

"Well, you can stay with me in my cabin," she replied, "and for one
thousand years you can remain, and I will teach you all my songs, from

4f

RUNOTAR 41

the first one to the last one, but still you shall not have the gift of Music
or the Secret of my Song. Will you learn the Secret? Will you see the
land where Music dwells ? Go alone into the forest and hide a sorrow in
your bosom and from your own heart shall song be born.

Gone was the cabin, gone was Runotar, and the majestic forest alone
was closing in upon him. With wonder he looked round. In fear he was
calling out, but only echo answered, but in the echo was a whisper that
went straight to his soul. The forest round him took up the whisper.
The secret he was yearning for was there and deep within was Runotar.

Was she an old withered woman, from whom he shrank in horror,
or was she a splendid beauty of Eternal Youth ? He could not tell. He
did not know, but low and lonely was her cabin. Lonesome and forsaken
was her life within. BIRGER ELWING.

That thou mayst not be moved by every blast of wind
Collect thyself like a mountain;
For man is but a handful of dust,
And life is a violent storm,

— AMIR KHUSRAM.

A NEW FORM OF MATTER

As KNOWN TO SCIENCE AND IN THE SECRET DOCTRINE

HARPER'S MONTHLY, for May, contains an article by J. D.
Beresford which gives a very interesting introduction to a new
form of matter, describing the oozing out of astral substance
more completely than has previously been done. Much of the
detail is of course familiar to theosophical students. One interesting
point is that this matter, which oozed out of the mouth and from the
two sides, the neck and the shoulders of the medium, could be collected
in a box, and it was proposed to subject it to analysis. When the box
was opened, there were only two or three drops of moisture, and this
liquid was shown to consist of cell detritus, highly bacterial, with ves-
tiges of other organic compounds. Care was taken to show that there
was clear evidence of an organic basis, and though the cell detritus had
an analogy to the vegetable kingdom, there was again a suggestion rather
of the fungoid tissue than that of animal structure. This ethereal
effluence could be moulded, at the will of the medium, into substances
of distinctly animal structure, such as hair. And this hair, when sub-
jected to the action of acids, decomposed in somewhat similar fashion
to the hair of ordinary persons present.

But the main point of interest, to readers of the THEOSOPHICAL
QUARTERLY, would be found by referring to the Secret Doctrine, pages
262 and 263 of the earlier editions, which makes special reference to
the highly bacterial content of the liquid found on the breaking down
of the substances proposed to be submitted for analysis. If this
extruded material is allied to the astral, the passage cited shows that
the linking-up of the astral mould to the physical cells would assuredly
be of a highly bacterial nature. Students who are interested in such
phenomena as are recorded in the Beresford article, would surely find
points of very great interest in the inferences to be drawn from the
Secret Doctrine teaching; the passage that is of most immediate value
being given below. — A. K.

FROM The Secret Doctrine

"Science teaches us that the living as well as the dead organisms
of both man and animal are swarming with bacteria of a hundred
various kinds; that from without we are threatened with the invasion
of microbes with every breath we draw, and from within by leuco--
maines, aerobes, anaerobes, and what not. But Science has never yet
gone so far as to assert with the Occult doctrine, that our bodies,
as well as those of animals, plants, and stones, are themselves altogether
built up of such beings ; which, with the exception of the larger species,

42

A NEW FORM OF MATTER 43

no microscope can detect. So far as regards the purely animal and
material portion of man, Science is on its way to discoveries that will
go far towards corroborating this theory. Chemistry and Physiology
are the two great magicians of the future, which are destined to open
the eyes of mankind to great physical truths. With every day, the
identity between the animal and physical man, between the plant and
man, and even between the reptile and its nest, the rock, and man —
is more and more clearly shown. The physical and chemical constitu-
ents of all being found to be identical, Chemical Science may well say
that there is no difference between the matter which composes the ox,
and that which forms man. But the Occult doctrine is far more
explicit. It says : Not only the chemical compounds are the same, but
the same infinitesimal invisible Lives compose the atoms of the bodies
of the mountain and the daisy, of man and the ant, of the elephant
and of the tree which shelters it from the sun. Each particle — whether
you call it organic or inorganic — is a Life. Every atom and molecule
in the Universe is both life-giving and death-giving to such forms,
inasmuch as it builds by aggregation universes, and the ephemeral
vehicles ready to receive the transmigrating soul, and as eternally
destroys and changes the forms, and expels the souls from their tem-
porary abodes. It creates and kills; it is self-generating and self-
destroying; it brings into being, and annihilates, that mystery of
mysteries, the living body of man, animal, or plant, every second in time
and space; and it generates equally life and death, beauty and ugliness,
good and bad, and even the agreeable and disagreeable, the beneficent
and maleficent sensations. It is that mysterious LIFE, represented col-
lectively by countless myriads of Lives, that follows in its own sporadic
way the hitherto incomprehensible law of Atavism; that copies family
resemblances, as well as those it finds impressed in the Aura of the
generators of every future human being; a mystery, in short, that will
receive fuller attention elsewhere. For the present, one instance may
be cited in illustration. Modern Science is beginning to find out that
ptomaine, the alkaloid poison generated by decaying corpses and matter
— a Life also, extracted with the help of volatile ether, yields a smell
as strong as that of the freshest orange-blossoms; but that free from
oxygen, such alkaloids yield either a most sickening, disgusting smell,
or a most agreeable aroma, which recalls that of the most delicately
scented flowers; and it is suspected that such blossoms owe their agree-
able smell to the poisonous ptomaine. The venomous essence of certain
fungi, also, is nearly identical with the venom of the cobra of India,
the most deadly of serpents. The French savants Arnaud, Gautier,
and Villiers, have found in the saliva of living men the same venomous
alkaloid as in that of the toad, the salamander, the cobra, and the
trigonocephalus of Portugal. It is proven that venom of the deadliest
kind, whether called ptomaine, or leucomaine, or alkaloid, is generated
by living men, animals and plants. . . . And though it is not yet

44 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

fully determined whether poisons can be generated by the animal systems
of living beings, without the participation and interference of microbes,
it is ascertained that the animal does produce venomous substances in its
physiological or living state.

"Thus, having discovered the effects, Science has to find their primary
causes; and this it can never do without the help of the old sciences,
of Alchemy, Occult Botany and Physics. We are taught that every
physiological change, in addition to pathological phenomena, diseases —
nay, life itself, or rather the objective phenomena of life, produced by
certain conditions and changes in the tissues of the body, which allow
and force life to act in that body — that all this is due to those unseen
"Creators" and "Destroyers," which are called, in such a loose and
general way, microbes. It might be supposed that these Fiery Lives
and the microbes of Science are identical. This is not true. The Fiery
Lives are the seventh and highest sub-division of the plane of matter,
and correspond in the individual with the One Life of the Universe,
though only on that plane of matter. The microbes of Science are the
first and lowest sub-division on the second plane — that of material Prana,
or Life. The physical body of man undergoes a complete change of
structure every seven years, and its destruction and preservation are due
to the alternate functions of the Fiery Lives, as Destroyers and Builders.
They are Builders by sacrificing themselves, in the form of vitality, to
restrain the destructive influence of the microbes, and, by supplying the
microbes with what is necessary, they compel them under that restraint
to build up the material body and its cells. They are Destroyers also,
when that restraint is removed, and the microbes, unsupplied with vital
constructive energy, are left to run riot as destructive agents. Thus,
during the first half of a man's life, the first five periods of seven years
each, the Fiery Lives are indirectly engaged in the process of building
up man's material body; Life is on the ascending scale, and the force
is used in construction and increase. After this period is passed, the
age of retrogression commences, and, the work of the Fiery Lives
exhausting their strength, the work of destruction and decrease also
commences."

ALSACE AND LORRAINE

PART III
SECTION II (Concluded)

IN preceding sections the essential character of the German peoples
has been traced from earliest days to the sixteenth century. German
beastliness and brutishness have been discovered as not merely the

faults of character of an otherwise noble people, but as the actual
character of that people itself. In other words, the faults which Germany
has redisplayed in this War are herself. It is virtues which are deflec-
tions of the German Wesen, not vices. In this the Germans are truly a
singular people; the antithesis of most we call civilized to-day.

The author does not intend to subject readers of the QUARTERLY to
further details of Germany's enduring depravity, — beyond what is
actually necessary. It has been the duty, and will continue to be the
painful duty, of the student of history to read German history as it is.
Only so can the absurdity and falsity of German claims be recognized,
and be exposed, for the colossal imposture they are. But enough has
been shown already of the early setting, out of which more modern
German history has evolved, to prove that at least most of it was not
propitious for the production either of refinement, of nobility, or of
culture, and that it was not the glorious thing it has been made out to be.

The Germany of Luther's time, of the Peasants' Revolt, or later, of
the Thirty Years' War (1618-1648) with its atrocious cruelties, its sack
of Magdebourg, its plagues, its devil-possession manias, and its open
debauch and irreligion — these things were certainly no evidence of a
high preceding civilization, or the fruit of a noble past, of superior
culture. The period is too well known to need elaboration or analysis.
This Thirty Years' War was perhaps a cyclic climax, when the compli-
cated forces of evil which had accumulated through the centuries in
Germany, turned finally upon each other in a cataclysm of destruction.
One or two quotations, from German sources, will suffice to give a
resume; and it might be well to remember, by way of contrast, that in
France it was the time of Richelieu, and the founding of the French
Academy, the Sorbonne, and the Jardin des Plantes; of Mazarin, of
Corneille, of Descartes, of the chaste Louis XIII, and of St. Vincent de
Paul; while in England it was the time of James I and our Bible, of
Charles I, of Bacon, and Beaumont and Fletcher, of Milton, Crashaw,
Sir Thomas Browne, and Jeremy Taylor.

In 1879 Karl Hillebrand delivered six lectures before the Royal
Institute of Great Britain, published under the title German Thought
from the Seven Years' War to Goethe's Death. Summarizing frankly

45

46 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

the history of his own country, he says : "Germany came out of the
Thirty Years' War almost expiring. It was as if a deadly illness had
wiped out the memory of the nation in its cruel delirium. All the
national forces, material as well as intellectual and moral, were destroyed
when peace was concluded in 1648. There are fertile wars and sterile
wars ; civil and religious wars belong mostly to the latter class. Still the
religious wars in France, and the Great Rebellion in England, were light
spring storms compared with that terrible Thirty Years' War which left
Germany a desert . . . Hundreds of flourishing cities were reduced
to ashes; there were towns of eighteen thousand inhabitants which
counted but three hundred and twenty-four at the peace; ground which
had been tilled and ploughed for ten centuries had become a wilderness ;
thousands of villages had disappeared. Trees grew in the abandoned
houses. At Wiesbaden the market had grown into a brushwood full of
deer. The whole Palatinate had but two hundred freeholders ; Wurtem-
berg had but forty-eight thousand inhabitants at the end of the war
instead of the four hundred thousand which it had mustered at the
beginning. We are told that a messenger going from Dresden to Berlin,
through a once flourishing country, walked thirty miles without finding a
house to rest in. The war had devoured, on an average, three quarters
of the population, two thirds of the houses, nine tenths of the cattle of
all sorts ; nearly three quarters of the soil had turned into heath. Com-
merce and industry were as utterly destroyed as agriculture ; the mighty
Hanseatic League was dissolved; the savings of the nation were entirely
spent . . .

"The social and moral state corresponded with the material. Many
schools and churches stood abandoned, for public instruction and public
worship had nearly perished. The highly cultivated language of Luther
was utterly forgotten, together with the whole literature of his time.
The most vulgar vices had taken root in people who had been reared
from their infancy in the horrors of war. Every higher aim and interest
had been lost sight of ; not a vestige of a national tradition remained.
There was no middle class nor gentry left; the higher noblemen had
become despotic princes, with no hand over them, since the Emperor was
but a name; the lower went to their court to do lackey's service. A
whole generation had grown up during the war, and considered its savage
barbarism as a normal state of society . . . Suicides became so
frequent after the war, that an Imperial law ordered self-murderers to
be buried under the gallows. From houses and churches the old artistic
furniture had disappeared, and was replaced by coarse and cheap
utensils. The peasants' dwellings differed little from those of their
animals . . . An unprecedented coarseness of manners had invaded
not only courts and cities, but also the universities and the clergy. There
was servility everywhere . . . Cowardice had become the common
vice of the lower people and of what remained of the middle class, in a
time when the free citizens were weaned from the use of arms through

ALSACE AND LORRAINE 47

the numerous mercenary troops, which had become gangs of highwaymen.
The prodigality, vanity, and luxury of the higher classes infected the
lower ; the contagion was general. Everybody wanted a title — for it was
then that the great title-mania set in, of which Germany is not yet
entirely cured. Theology in its most rigid form, superstition of the
rudest character, had replaced religion; pedantry had taken the place of
erudition. The study of the Greek language had almost disappeared from
the universities and colleges, where the professors vied with the students
in vulgar vices. Drinking became a profession; there were travelling
drinkers ; at the highest Court of the Empire at Wetzlar, an examination
in drinking was exacted from the newly-appointed assessors by their
colleagues. Every baron had his mistresses, as well as an Augustus of
Saxony, or a George of Hanover. 'At the court of Dresden,' says a con-
temporary, 'there are numbers of people who, not being able to live from
their own resources, sacrifice their wives to maintain themselves in favour.'
Gambling had become a general habit . . . Venality and nepotism
prevailed among the numerous officials ; pauperism and mendacity among
the lower people ; ignorance and immorality everywhere . . . Foreign
manners and foreign languages were adopted everywhere . . .
National unity scarcely existed even in words and forms. The Empire
was organized anarchy . . . Germany had really and truly become
a geographical expression . . . The small states, which the court-
theologians called complacently 'true gardens of God, cultivated by
princely hands,' had in reality become hot-beds of debauch and tyranny.
Never had despotism reigned so supreme and unchecked . . . Reli-
gion itself, which had been the pretext of the war, had well-nigh van-
ished . . . There was no theatre, and no art ; for art did not survive
the war. What remained of it was of the worst taste, more bric-a-brac
than art ... The whole literature of the time is a servile imitation
of the Neo-Latin literatures ... in material and intellectual, as
well as in moral and social, respects, the German of the seventeenth
century was thrown back into utter barbarism by the Thirty Years'
War."1

That the causes for this general destruction lay in the disintegrating
forces at play in the German character, is incontestable. France,
England, Holland, Spain, had their civil and religious wars, their Fronde
rebellions, their brutal, pillaging campaigns. But they never experienced
anything like the utter evil and desolation of Germany.

It was the quality of Germany's badness that made the difference.
The foregoing summary speaks of its results in general and sweeping
terms; perhaps one more quotation on Germany's methods of warfare
and of the character of her fighting-men will explain the why of these
results. Professor F. Philippson, who wrote volumes seven to nine in
the Allgemeine Weltgeschichte series of Theodore Flathe, says of this
Thirty Years' War: "The soldiery raged everywhere, pillaging, burning,

1 German Thought by Karl Hillebrand, 1880, pp. 40 to 49 pastim, and p. 77.

48 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

torturing and assassinating at will; friends or enemies, it mattered
little . . . All resistance was punished with death; children and
young persons, even old people were not spared. And their favourite
sport consisted in impaling infants on the point of their lances, and
striking them dead against a wall, or burning them alive . . . These
are not legends," adds this German professor, "hundreds of eyewitnesses
have reported these statements. Smallpox and other contagious plagues
were not long in making their appearance amongst the populations ren-
dered anaemic by famine ; these decimated what the sword had spared."2

No wonder that from 1336 to 1400 there were about thirty-two
years of plague in Germany, from 1400 to 1500 at least forty-two years,
and from 1500 to 1600 probably more than thirty years. The seven-
teenth century was nearly as bad.

There will probably be a tendency on the part of some readers of
the foregoing pages, to discount the real significance of Germany's evil-
doings on the ground that in barbarian days and in the Middle Ages,
everything was crude, chaotic, brutal, inhuman — if you insist on looking
at that side of life. Above all, other countries, such as England and
France, were, during those centuries, just as brutal and inhuman as
was Germany.

This point of view, fostered by Germans, results from reading the
smoothed-over, popular histories, which are the only ones known to the
average lay-reader. But it is not a true view. And the War has proved
it. There has never been a break between the Germany of the Thirty
Years' War, and the Germany of 1914. It was avowedly the Prussian
military state, together with Protestantism, which "allowed Germany to
raise herself out of the state of intellectual and moral misery in which
the Thirty Years' War had left her."3 The success of the iniquitous
Seven Years' War (1756-1763) that "roused the national spirit to new
life after centuries of slumber"4 was fought in truly German style.
Frederick the Great is not famed in history for either honour, piety,
or kindliness; and such culture as he affected was borrowed avowedly
from France. The eighteenth century shows no real advance over the

2 Vol. iv, cap. 7, pp. 251-253 passim. Europa urn die Mitte des Siebsehnten Jahrhunderts.
One look at the pictures and portraits by Moscherosch von Wilstatt in this volume explains much.
Cf. Dr. G. Droysen, Das Zeitalter des Dreissigjahrigen Krieges in Wilhelm Oncken's Allgemeine
Geschichte. Also Schafer, Der Siebenjahrige Krieg. Those interested to pursue this field of
study further will find source-material all too abundant, referred to in every standard history.
The Austrian histories are not without interest, as being a statement by kindred spirits, yet
somewhat detached. Cf. Dr. Vehse, Geschichte des Oesterreichischen Hofes; Rieger, Mate-
nalien sur Bohmischen Statistick; also Baron Hormayr, Taschenbttch fiir die Vaterlandische
Geschichte, esp. p. 300 for German peasants eating cooked human flesh, and also his other vol-
umes; Cox's House of Austria, a standard; and Alfred Michiels' Secret History of the Austrian
Government, not always to be trusted. For an intimate revelation of Germans of that time
nothing could be better than Cardinal Caraffa's Germania sacra res Rcstaurata, with more than
eight hundred pages of documents, letters, decrees, etc. He was Apostolic nuncio during the
reign of Ferdinand II — "the greatest murderer in Europe." Michelet's pictures of the Fronde
rebellion in France cannot approach these ferocious times in Germany. Ranke, as usual, omits
or minimizes as far as possible the "unpleasant" facts in his Reformation. For an English
source-study, see Gardiner's The Thirty Years' War.

3 Hillebrand, op. cit, p. 59.

4 Op. cit., p. 75

ALSACE AND LORRAINE 49

seventeenth or the sixteenth; time, and imitation of others, had laid on
a new coat of veneer, never thick enough even to hide effectively or
completely the real character within. Flagrant immorality in Germany
was rapidly reaching the literally unspeakable condition which openly
existed before the War. The courts were all corrupt to an almost
unbelievable extent. Karl Eugen von Wiirtemberg, 1744 to 1793 — the
contemporary of our own George Washington remember — wrote four
volumes at twenty-one, "An exact account of all the virtues and all the
vices."8 His court, one amongst literally hundreds, was famed for its
luxury, and was known as the "metropolis of the most exquisite freedom
of sensual pleasure."6 He had over two hundred mistresses, the names
of many listed in the encyclopedias. Well might Richards say: "While
single cases of corruption in high places had occurred before, we may
repeat that from 1333, when Henry of Lower Bavaria accepted his bribe
from the French king, to 1815, the history of the German princes is a
continuous account of disgraceful, treacherous venality."7

Whatever may be said for the intellectual revival of the eighteenth
and nineteenth centuries, embodied in Lessing, Herder, Goethe, Kant,
and others, the seeds of evil still existed, else the Germany of 1914
could not have been. The best in Herder, in Goethe, in Schiller, in Kant,
was veneer, was the coat of bright paint, real enough in itself, but which
only whited the sepulchre within. And the worst element, the evil, in
these men, was of the same corrupt stream which has always character-
ized the German. Did not Kant's categorical imperative pave the way
for the self-expression of Treitschke, of Bernhardi, and of the Pan-
Germanists? Did not Goethe and Schiller, following Herder's lead,
"overthrow all conventionalism, all authority, even all law and rule, in
order to put in their stead the absolute self-government of genius, freed
from all tutorship," — and were they not praised for it? And what did
Goethe maintain in his maturity, if not that "to be completely free man
must fly into the ideal sphere of Art, Science, or formless Religion" —
in other words, into an artificial world of ^//-created unrealities?

Self-expression in Goethe was passably sane and moral; but in the
German peasant there was (and is) more of hell to express than of
heaven. While Goethe wrote and Kant philosophized and Schiller
dreamed, Hessian and Bavarian troops around New York City and in
New Jersey were expressing themselves, true to German form. Carlo
Botta, an able Italian historian, speaks out clearly a disinterested opinion
on the subject, which is chosen from among the many because by a
disinterested author. The New International Encyclopaedia says of him,
"He brought new standards of accuracy and elegance into historical
writing in his History of the American War of Independence (1809),
which has remained a classic in the subject." Botta testifies of the

•Pub. in Stuttgart, the 2 lit September, 1740.

• "Metropole der raffinirtesten Freiheit des Sinnenjenusaes." Cf. Atlgemtine Deutsche
Biopraphie, vol. XV, pp. 376 ff. The quotation is on p. 383.
T Op. cit., p. 286.

50 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

Germans that "An universal cry was raised in America against the
cruelties, the massacres, the rapes, and the ravages, perpetrated by their
soldiers; and even supposing that their crimes were exaggerated, still it
must be confessed that the greatest part of them are true. The Hes-
sians, naturally ferocious, knew nothing of humanity or inhumanity, and
seemed to know no other mode of warfare but that of carrying devas-
tation into the midst of all the property, whether public or private, of
their adversaries. ... It was also stated, that this rapacious
soldiery had so loaded themselves down with booty, as to accomplish
badly their military service. ... It was a terrible and cruel sight
to see these fertile fields covered with ashes, and devastated of all their
goods. Friends or enemies, Republicans or Royalists, all were victims
alike of this fury. Wives and daughters suffered violence in the houses,
and even before the eyes of their husbands and fathers. Many fled into
the forests. But they could find no refuge even there from the bestial
lust of these perverse barbarians, who pursued them with diligence.
The houses were either burnt or demolished, the cattle were either
driven off or killed; everything was destroyed. The Hessian General
Heister made no efforts to check the enormities of his soldiers; the
English General wished, but was powerless, to control them. . . .
Their example became infectious with the British troops, and they were
soon found to vie with the German troops in outrage, rapine, violations,
arson, and plunder."8 Hackensack was completely destroyed, and a
royalist populace was turned pro-Washington by these enormities.

If the eighteenth century seems too long ago to affect the atrocities
of 1914, there is the Copenhagen campaign of the Danish wars in 1807.
Sir Herbert Maxwell writes in his Life of Wellington, "The Germans,
however, made up for their slowness in action by atrocious cruelty in
pursuit and their activity in plunder. Unarmed country people were
mercilessly butchered ; Captain Napier declared that 'every British soldier
shuddered at the cruelty.' Writing to his mother he said —

'I can assure you that, from the General of the Germans down to
the smallest drumboy in the legion, the earth never groaned with such
a set of infamous murdering villains.' "9

The Franco-Prussian War of 1870 was exactly the same thing.
The testimony of so able and well-known an eyewitness as Mr. Frederick
Harrison should convince people who might refuse to credit the official
French Recits militaires (e. g. vol. II, p. 56) of General Ambert, and
writers, such as Desjardins, Tableau de la guerre des Allemands etc., 1873,
or M. Paul Lacombe, La guerre et L'homnte. Mr. Harrison says, "I was
abroad during August, September, and October, 1870, and I saw much
of the war from the German side, having twice crossed the whole area
of Western Germany, near enough to have talked to the prisoners of

• Storia Delia, Guerra Dell' Independeiua Degli Stoti Uniti D' America, Tom. II, Lib. VII,
pp. 50S-6, and S07-8.

•Vol. I, pp. 87-88.

ALSACE AND LORRAINE 51

Sedan, and to have seen the bombardment of Strasbourg. ... So
far as robbery, burning homes, and terrorism of civilians could go, the
practice of 1870 was really the same as that of 1914, though it was on
a much smaller scale"10 ... In the Fortnightly Review for
December 1870, and February 1871, he gives an actual, first-hand, con-
temporary description of German behaviour then, quotation from which
we shall spare the reader, as it would be but repetition.

The Germans, as usual, are the best witnesses against themselves.
Dr. Moritz Busch is typically German in being proud to narrate of Bis-
marck in 1870, — "He then told us that Favre had complained to him
that we fired upon the sick and the blind in the Blind Institute. 'I do
not know what you find hard in that/ said I. 'You do far worse;
you shoot at our men who are in sound and vigorous health.' ' "What
a Barbarian!" he no doubt thought to himself.'"11 "The conversation
turned on the attitude of the French peasantry, and Putbus said that
a Bavarian officer had burned down the whole of a fine village and
ordered the wine in the cellars to be run into the streets, because the
peasants there had behaved treacherously. Somebody else remarked
that the soldiers, somewhere or other, had frightfully beaten a curate,
who had been apprehended for alleged treachery. The Minister again
praised the energy of the Bavarians, but as to the second case, he added,
'We must either treat the country people with as much consideration
as possible, or altogether deprive them of the power to harm us, one
thing or the other.' "12

To sum up, the Germans simply are not the most cultured people
in the world from earliest days until now. As Europeans go, they are,
and always have been, the least cultured. German genius has, in the
nature of things, taught her neighbours much, but chief of all her lessons
has been, in the words of a French officer, the necessity for hating evil.

The Germans are not French, even though France gave Germany
the best that she has in the way of veneer. The Germans are not
Alsatian, because in his likeness to the French, the Alsatian is
immeasurably above the German.

There is something of the beast, of the brute barbarian, in most
men, — in the Frenchman, in the Englishman, in the Alsatian and Lor-
rainer. But the beast in the last is not a German beast. What German
people would— could — have undergone the persecutions suffered by
Alsace-Lorrainers during the past forty-eight years, and still have kept
their spirit, their manhood, their loyalty to their own ideals of right
and wrong? No German people have ever given a like exhibition. The
loss of all sense of national unity, of national integrity, has been the
hall-mark of German history, the specialty about them, which most often

14 The German Peril, 1915, p. 30, chap. II.

u Bismarck and the Franco-Prnttian War, Authorized translation, vol. II, p. 243.

"Vol. II, p. 21.

52 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

receives comment at the hands of foreign historians, and most often is
excused or blandly denied by the German. Alsatians are a race of
soldiers ; they also- love peace, and the hearth-fires of home. Because
they are soldiers, says the German, therefore they must be German;
and similarly because they are home-loving, they must be German.
But when soldiers, have they fought as Germans fight? Is their history
one long career of butchery, torture, infamy and villainy? It is not:
and history demonstrates that time and again they resisted German
invasion, and either sought their own independence, or joined and
fought with the French. Was Marshal Ney a typical German general?
Do we think of him in the same terms as of Frederick the Great, Von
Moltke, or Hindenburg? We do not; nor do we think of the forty
thousand Alsatians who deserted Germany to fight with France in this
War as German soldiers, either in the manner of their fighting, or in
the motives and principles which actuated their taking sides with the
French. It is those qualities that for centuries have made the Alsatians
turn to France which are the best proof that they are unlike the German.
Perhaps the ready comment of common sense in answer to such
questions carries more weight than all the arguments of scientific research
and psychological analysis. Nevertheless, though the total unlikeness of
the Alsatian and the Lorrainer to the German, and particularly to the
German "brute-beast," is an argument, and a powerful argument, against
their being German heart and soul, as the Germans claim, yet it is at
best a negative argument. The true and complete picture must take
into consideration all that France has been to these two border provinces,
and above all, what that magnificent and powerful sentiment is which
has bound all the diverse peoples of France into one dynamic national
consciousness, the sentiment which blazed forth in Alsace-Lorraine when
French armies reappeared along the Rhine in 1918, that passionate,
religious cry of love for La Patrie. A. G.

(To be continued.)

Worldliness is a more decisive test of a man's spiritual state than
even sin, for sin may be sudden. — FREDERICK ROBERTSON OF BRIGHTON.

MAP MAKERS

NOT long ago I lunched with a friend who had just finished an
article on his great hobby, "Dutch Cartographers of the Six-
teenth Century," which he gave me to read. My interest in the
Dutch is of the slightest, and I did not know what a "cartog-
rapher" was until I began the article; hence I expected to be bored. I
was not. The light of imagination touched the opening paragraphs and
made a dull subject vivid and real. Under its influence one saw the
battered ships of the explorers of the New World rounding the head-
land of their home port and dropping safe anchors at last after their
long danger. One saw the eager welcome and the intense interest with
which every move their captains had made was followed on the few maps
available. One felt how each hearer must have longed to have been with
them, to have shared in the thrill of the discovery and to have seen the
wonders for himself. What were the hardships and dangers compared to
such a prize. Perhaps then and there some Magellan resolved that he
too would make the great adventure, and sought a crew from those who
heard the call with him. Who could hold back from so glorious a
chance, and how they must have studied the maps, until every line was
indelibly impressed on their minds.

What glorious days to have lived in! Hardships, yes and dangers,
but who could think of hardships or of what he left behind, when such
a romance opened before him. It would be sluggish blood indeed that
would not stir at the chance to sail with Magellan or Drake — nay, to be a
Magellan or a Drake, to find a new continent, perhaps, and add it to the
realm of one's king; for in those days men still loved and served their
kings with whole-hearted loyalty.

I asked how they came to grasp the principles of longitude and lati-
tude so soon after first learning that the world was not flat, and was told
in reply that there had been maps, from the days of Ptolemy, showing the
world as round. Ptolemy himself had even measured its size with remark-
able accuracy. So the information had been there for ages, waiting for
men to arouse themselves and use it. It required no new, piercing intellect
to make the discovery. All that was needed was the strength of mind to
break with the habit of thought of the age, to throw over dogmatic
"authority," and to examine known facts with an open mind. And then
the courage to act on one's conviction.

What a golden opportunity ! I suppose it was not easy to brave the
ridicule, the unknown dangers, to leave everything behind and set sail on
an unknown sea, bound for what all the world said was a phantom goal.
Yet who would not jump at the chance for such a glorious adventure?
How small the dangers look, and how petty the hardships and sacrifices,

53

54 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

compared to the rewards. The worlds are all discovered now, even to the
poles. The kings men served are dead, and the colour is faded from life.
The clock struck. Time to go back to work and leave dreams of neglected
maps, and worlds waiting to be discovered.

Neglected maps; worlds waiting to be discovered! "The spiritual
world is at hand." And suddenly these age-old verses came back to my
mind:

"The small old path that stretches far away has been found and fol-
lowed by me. By it go the Seers who know the Eternal, rising up from
this world to the heavenly world.

"It is adorned with white and blue, orange and gold and red. This
is the path of the Eternal, the path of the saints, the sages, the seers in
their radiance."

"When all desires that were hid in the heart are let go, the mortal
becomes immortal, and reaches the Eternal."

Fifty centuries have passed since the Seer of the Upanishads recorded
his discovery of the "Small old path that stretches far away," and, from
that day to this, "Saints, Sages, Seers in their radiance," have found and
followed it, and have left charts showing every rock and reef on the way
to the spiritual world, the world of the Eternal. What was the world that
Columbus discovered compared to that world, or his adventure compared
to the adventure that lies open to each one of us, who will listen to the
call of his own soul? The Royal Sages of Ancient India, the Gospels,
the great Saints, the Theosophical writers of the present day, all in
their own terms, bring the same great message. The soul is real, is the
great reality of the universe. Sure knowledge of it and of its immor-
tality exists, and is obtainable by those who seek. The spiritual world,
and the great beings who dwell there, are realities, and that world may be
entered and those great beings seen, face to face, by living men.

Back through all the ages, to the earliest dawn of time, stretches the
long line of those who have made the great adventure, who have attained
to knowledge of the marvellous powers of their own souls, and have left
their record for those who care to seek the way they trod. Widely
separated in time, in place, and nation, their evidence is the same, the
very similes they use are often identical. The marvel is that so little
attention is given to it. We hear the words, and we do not believe.
Perhaps we think it beautiful allegory. More probably we do not think
at all, but put the whole matter out of our minds and go about our daily
grubbing. "Vineland" was discovered by the Vikings long before
Columbus, and the discovery recorded in the Sagas. I wonder whether
those few who knew the records thought them fiction or allegory, or,
like ourselves, did not think at all.

One of the characteristics of lack of development is stupidity. A
savage of the South Pacific when told of the marvels of modern machin-
ery, of wireless telephones that enabled men to talk half way round the
world, of aeroplanes and railroads and telescopes, would probably not

MAP MAKERS 55

be much impressed unless he actually saw them with his physical eyes.
He would almost certainly make no effort to go to see them for himself.
It would be most difficult to find terms, sufficiently within his experience,
to enable him to understand anything of what was being described, and
the little he did understand he would probably either disbelieve or regard
as a miracle having no relation to the natural laws he lived under. The
human mind has truly travelled far, in the evolution of its powers, from
savage to cultured scientist, and yet those who have attained say that the
growth of the human mind is as nothing compared to the growth of the
powers of the human soul, from man, as we know him, to man as he may
make himself.

For we are not, as we so complacently assume, in the forefront of
evolution. It is true, as Huxley suggested, that there are beings in the
universe as far in advance of man as\ man is in advance of the black
beetle. These beings are not hypothetical. They are real and have been
seen and talked with, may now be seen and talked with, say the seers of
all ages, by those who seek them with undivided devotion and purity of
heart. To be found, they must be sought where they dwell, in the spiritual
world. As a baby becomes conscious of the physical world around him by
the development of his physical senses, as we enter the mental world
by the development of our minds, so man enters the world of the spirit by
spiritual development, by setting the powers of his soul free from their
slavery to material and selfish ends.

The Seer of the Upanishads says that each night, during sleep, the
souls of men are freed to return for a time to their own world, and
that if this were not so, all men would go mad ; yet that man brings back
no memory of what he has seen there, for "the spirit of man is free and
nought adheres to the spirit of man."

"As a great fish swims along one bank of the river, and then along
the other bank, first the eastern bank and then the western, so the Spirit
of man moves through both worlds, the waking world and the dream
world.

"Then, as a falcon or an eagle, flying to and fro in the open sky
and growing weary, folds his wings and sinks to rest, so of a truth the
Spirit of man hastens to that world where, finding rest, he desires no
desire and dreams no dream.

"And whatever he has dreamed, as that he was slain or oppressed,
crushed by an elephant or fallen into an abyss, or whatever fear he beheld
in the waking world, he knows now that it was from unwisdom. Like a
god, like a king, he knows he is the All. This is his highest world.

"This is his highest joy. He has passed beyond all evil. This is his
fearless form. . . . All beings live on the fragments of this bliss."

Was he only dreaming a beautiful dream, that Seer of so many
thousand years ago, or did he know whereof he wrote, and has the world
lost the knowledge it once possessed ? Knowledge has been won and lost
again more than once in the history of the world. Why should we assume

56 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

that we know all that has ever been known? It is "when all the desires
that were hid in the heart are let go," that "the mortal becomes immortal
and reaches the Eternal." Let those who can fulfil the condition answer
that ancient Seer. Who today has the right to say that the pure in heart
do not see God ?

I wonder what those old Dutch cartographers thought of the marvels
they heard described and which they tried to portray. Some of them
must have lived all their lives on the flats of Holland, never seeing a
hill bigger than a sand dune or a dike. What did they think when they
heard of the Andes, of sheer walls of rock ten thousand feet high or of
cataracts like Niagara ? It is hard to believe things that are so far beyond
one's own experience, and no doubt many of them lived out their lives
on the shore of the sea that leads to the new world, shaking their heads
with solemn incredulity; even as you and I, on the shore of another sea
that leads to another world.

It is a marvellous world, that world of the soul and the consciousness
of man, — as much richer than the world of the mind, as the world of the
mind is richer than the physical world. A world of beauty and joy, of glad-
ness and sunshine, of the peace of eternal snows, and summits of attain-
ment, rising, peak after peak, higher and farther than the most daring
traveller has ever reached. "For the soul of man is immortal and eternal,
and its future is the future of a thing to whose growth and splendour
there is no limit." That world is at hand, and it may be entered by
becoming conscious of it. As one born blind enters the world around
him by regaining the power of sight, normally his own and which he had
in a former life, so the seers say that the soul of man enters his own
world by the development of the soul's own latent powers. He becomes
conscious of that which has been there all along, but to which he had
been blind. At first he may, indeed, see "men as trees walking," and the
world that is still blind, knowing that trees do not walk, is lead to easy
ridicule and to denial of the very power of sight itself. So babes reach
for the moon ; but the power of sight remains.

The soul of man is in essence divine, is one with the Divine, and
hence, say "the Seers in their radiance," there is no power of the Divine,
no power in the universe, to which he may not attain, no power to which,
ere the end of time, he will not attain. Said one who had attained:
"There are all the powers of nature before you. Take what you can."
As the destiny of man through the long ages of evolution yet to be, is to
share Divine power, so, by little and little, will he share in the conscious-
ness of the Divine. "And anything that is in consciousness anywhere
may become known to the consciousness of man." As Emerson said,
there is no wall between God and man. Back through all the past to
the earliest dawn of history, we find the records, disbelieved and neglected
but still preserved, of those who have developed the consciousness of the
soul and its powers, who have found the world of the real and have
talked, face to face, with the great beings who dwell there.

MAP MAKERS 57

"Seek out the way" echoes through all the centuries. Think of the
romance of it! To all who have had but a glimpse of it, it is the one
thing in the world worth while. One touch of the joy of the spirit makes
all other joys fade into the palest of reflections, as indeed they are.
"When this path is beheld, then thirst and hunger are forgotten; day
and night are undistinguished in this road. How shall I easily describe
this? Thou thyself shall experience it."

To experience something of that bliss, on whose fragments all beings
live, is within the power of us all. Fortunately we do not have to do it
all at once. Columbus discovered the new world by discovering a little
island in the West Indies. He knew naught of the Andes, the Great
Lakes, the Mississippi, naught of the continent itself, but he had discov-
ered the new world. So with us. We do not have to gain with St. Teresa
that union with the Divine of which she writes, with all its illumination of
the understanding and its pure delight and bliss, almost too great to bear.
We do not have to gain with the seer of India that power of sight when :

"Uncontainable within the clasp of the eyelids, the sight expanding
seeks to go outward ; it is the same indeed as before but it is now capable
of embracing the heavens.

"Then he beholds the things beyond the sea, he hears the language of
paradise, he perceives what is passing in the mind of the ant."

So wrote the Seer in ancient India. So wrote St. Paul :

"And I knew a man (whether in the body or out of the body, I can-
not tell: God knoweth) how that he was caught up into paradise and
heard unspeakable words which it is not lawful for a man to utter."

And Columba five centuries later in Ireland :

"Some there are, though very few, to whom Divine Grace has
granted this : that they can clearly and most distinctly see, at one and the
same moment, as though under one ray of the sun, even the entire circuit
of the whole world with its surroundings of ocean and sky, the inmost
part of their mind being most marvellously enlarged."

Some day, perhaps, all mankind will gain that power of sight capable
of embracing the heavens and of perceiving what is passing in the mind
of the ant. Some day too, we will win the memory of our own past and
recall the days when we sailed with the Vikings of the North, rode with
the Crusaders to Jerusalem, died, sword in hand, with Roland at Ronce-
valles, or prayed in the old Egyptian temples on the Nile. "Many are
my past births, and thine also, Arjuna ; I know them all, but thou knowest
them not." How the thought of it lights up history! Did I fight for
Rome or Carthage? Where was I in the day of Egypt's glory? Did I
perhaps charge with the Prince of Amor and his desert horsemen against
the Hittites at Kadesh ? What would I not give to remember that scene :
to see great Rameses, his army surprised and in wild rout, turning alone
in his chariot and single-handed charging back and forth through the
Hittite host, until his horses were killed and he himself surrounded, yet
victor in the end.

58 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

Memory of the past, the vision of the soul, the illumination of the
understanding, these are gifts of the High Gods, to be given or withheld.
It was not every voyager to America that saw the mountain peaks. But
first hand experience of the Divine, and knowledge of the soul and of
man's immortality, are within the reach of all who will seek them. Seek
and ye shall find, has been true from the beginning of time. Like
Columbus, we do not have to discover the whole continent. The discov-
ery of the smallest island in that new world of the spirit will be glory
and bliss enough.

It is to this discovery that Theosophy leads ; for this that Theosophy
exists : to proclaim the existence of that world, to point the way there,
and to help those who would tread the path to it. The Seers and Saints
who have found it, have left their records, each in his own language, and
with the colouring of his own faith and his own time. It is by the Rosetta
stone of Theosophy that we can perceive that they are describing the
same experiences in different terms, and pointing to the same roads by
different names. An artist and a geologist will describe the same moun-
tain in very different ways, yet the mountain remains the same mountain.
So it matters little whether we speak of union with the Eternal, with
the Desireless Supreme, with the One Self of all Beings, with God, or
with the Oversoul; whether we speak of the Path of Renunciation, of
Acceptance, of Sacrifice, of Faith, of Wisdom, or of Holiness; whether
we say that we attain by the development of the latent spiritual powers
of man's own soul, or that we attain by the grace of God. Each is neces-
sary for the other. There is one goal and one path, with many aspects.
Before the foundation of The Theosophical Society men expected to find
only error in faiths other than their own. They did not seek in other
religions the truths that theirs needed to supplement its gaps. The discov-
erer who would set sail for the new world could use only the charts made
by those of his own country. Now he has the experience of the whole
world to guide him, if he will but use it.

So little faith is needed, for each step brings more. It is as if a
fourteenth century mariner, with a taste for adventure and antiquarian
lore, had discovered in the ruins of Troy, the record of some old Phoe-
nician galley that had ventured forth past the Straits of Gibraltar, cruised
north beyond the Bay of Biscay to England, thence to Iceland, to Green-
land, and so to the great new world. He would read it with wonder, with
interest, and no doubt with incredulity. If then, passing on to the ruins
of Carthage, he were to find the log of a Carthaginian trader who had
made the same cruise, and described the same lands under different names,
there would be more of interest and less of incredulity. If, finally, he
resolved to make the great adventure himself, and see whether those
ancient voyagers had told the truth, his faith would grow more sure
with each point at which he found corroboration, until at last he would
set sail from Iceland with the sure hope of finding the new world.

Some faith is needed, or the mariner would not have set out to

MAP MAKERS 59

make the test' for himself. If the man born blind believes neither in the
beauty of the world, nor in the possibility of being cured of his blindness,
he will not stir, though all that be asked of him is to go and wash, that
he may be clean and see.

"The great Beyond gleams not for the child, led away by the
delusion of possession. 'This is the world, there is no other', he thinks,
and so falls again and again.

"The unknowing, who has no faith, who is full of doubt, falls;
neither this world, nor the world beyond, nor happiness are for him who
is full of doubt."

The only way to find out is to try. There is nothing gained in the
world of men or the world of the spirit without paying the price, and it
usually has to be paid in advance. The merchant who sought the pearl
of great price had to sell all that he had 'to buy it. When Columbus
sought the new world he had to leave all behind him, and sail many
weary weeks on a desolate, empty sea. I wonder if in his day, too, there
were those who heard the call, deep in their hearts, and longed to follow
it, but who could not bring themselves to leave the solid land they knew,
or to face the easy ridicule of those who said there was nothing in the
great Beyond but the grey expanse of sea they saw before them. Per-
haps they went to the farthest point of shore, or made timid voyages
as far as one may go and be sure of return, straining eyes toward the
horizon in the vain hope that they might catch a glimpse of that wonder-
ful new world, then turning toward their homes to be sure that they
had not gone too far. The kingdom of heaven is taken by violence, not
by caution.

There have been times when men leaped to answer the call to high
adventure. When Bernard of Clairvaux preached the crusade, the thou-
sands who heard him cried with one voice: "Crosses, crosses, give us
crosses," and thronged around him to be given the little red cross that
was the sign of their willingness to fare forth and leave all. The war
has shown that this spirit is not dead in the world, and that nations can
still answer to the call of honour, the call of their own souls. Hundreds
of thousands of men have proved that the faintest glimpse of the heav-
enly vision, the dimmest realization of the grandeur of the cause for
which they fought, was all that they needed to make them lay down
their lives with a smile. Cannot we, who have the vision, claim a
kindred spirit?

"Souls honoured by the world as its heroes, just and perfect spirits
of the past, look down and envy us our opportunity."

J. F. B. MITCHELL.

LODGE DIALOGUES

II

LITTLE SAMJI was sitting under one of the big trees in the
garden. The day was very warm, and little Samji was fat,
besides which he had been working hard tying up the creepers
which seemed to grow.by magic in the starlit nights.
There were times, especially in the hot days, when the world looked
very black to him, and the blackest thing in all the black world then,
were his sins. He was wonderfully gentle and good, and, to some of
us, this strangely disproportionate sense of his iniquity was the only sin
we had ever found in him. Once, one of the Brothers, replying to his
director, had uttered this paradox : "Samji may not be able to go far,
having so little to overcome, but such simplicity of nature cannot possibly
have far to go to reach the kingdom of heaven."

When I saw him under the big tree, I knew that the blackness was
upon him, though he scrambled cheerfully to his feet and made his
salaam most respectfully, for his manners never failed. We seated our-
selves together, and as he waited for me to speak, I pointed to the
distant line of the mountains above the quivering noon-day heat. "The
world is very beautiful, Samji." I said it solemnly. He looked at me
with his full dark eyes. "Mechu Chan, when the heart is black the
world is black also." "And yet the divine benediction rests upon it, and
blooms in the flowers, and sings in the birds, and is immovable in
the mountains, who send the purity of their snows to cool the waters;
and it filters through, even into the darkness of our hearts, and sunshine
comes by the ways it has made." Samji did not lift his head. I sus-
pected welling tears. "When the evening has come," I went on, "and
the coolness breathes through the garden, before the stars come out to
laugh at you, open your heart and give it welcome. Then it will flood
over and over your heart, and the blackness will go and the sins will
go; — for the divine benediction cannot rest where these are dwelling.
But your heart it loves and seeks, as the bee seeks the heart of the
flower. You cannot drive them away, Samji; it alone has the power.
Only, you must open, — open the doors and the windows. Why sit at
home locked up with such very bad company?" "When the Master
looks at the heart, he must find it clean utterly," said Samji. "True;
but I am telling you how to cleanse it. If you sit there alone in the

60

LODGE DIALOGUES 61

dark, you may polish and polish ; you never will clean it, — nor ever get
rid of your company."

When I rose to go, he salaamed again and thanked me for my
"instruction," and when I returned a little later, the poor, tired child
was asleep. Haru was standing near, a finger on his lips, warning
silence. "When he wakes and finds he has not returned to work," I
whispered, "that will be another 'sin/ " "That is why I am waiting,"
said that stern disciplinarian, who knows so well when and how to be
gentle.

At sunset I found little Samji standing, his arms outstretched,
breathing deep, where the garden begins to slope down and the breeze
draws up from the valley. His fat little person expressed such prayer,
such devotion. When he overtook me on the path back, he said, "O
Mechu Chan, the stars shall not laugh at me to-night."

M.

Make yourselves nests of pleasant thoughts. None of us yet know,
for none of us have been taught in early youth, what fairy palaces tve
may build of beautiful thought — proof against all adversity. Bright
fancies, satisfied memories, noble histories, faithful sayings, treasure-
houses of precious and restful thoughts, which care cannot disturb, nor
pain make gloomy, nor poverty take away from us, — houses built without
hands, for our souls to live in. — JOHN RUSKIN.

ON THE SCREEN OF TIME

THE Historian had been reading the morning paper. We had told
him, solemnly, that awful things would happen if he did, and that
headlines, at present, are as much as any balanced constitution
should be called upon to stand. He had waived us aside. So we
had sat and watched the landscape, and had sharpened pencils, medita-
tively, waiting for him to explode. As he read, he groaned, and then he
grunted (though he will deny this), and then, very deliberately, he folded
his paper and consigned it into the waste-basket. After that, looking at us
sternly, as if we were responsible for newspapers and all that they record,
the Historian spoke and we wrote.

"The burglar and assassin," he said, "caught red-handed, and turned
over to a judge for trial and sentence, who is thereupon permitted to
discuss with his judge, by formal exchange of notes, just what punish-
ment he will accept, and to present claims against the police who captured
him, for damage done to his property and person while he resisted
capture, — is suggestive of Gilbert and Sullivan, or, as some one said
during the T. S. Convention, of the weird dreams of a man coming out of
ether. Yet that is the actual situation at Versailles, as Germany 'talks
back' at the Allies, and as the Allies gravely assume that their prisoner's
signature on his sentence will oblige him to abide by its terms."

There had been a note of challenge in his voice, but no one chose to
accept it. Instead, the Student picked up the same thread.

"I wonder what the outcome would have been if Clemenceau had not
held things down to earth, so far as it lay in his power to do so! They
get their planes so hopelessly mixed, — these gentlemen who see an
American University as the archetype of civilized existence. They dream.
In fact I doubt if there is anything quite so psychic, quite so astral, this
side the dark side of the moon, as their published mental processes, —
except (always excepting) the representatives of Point Loma."

"What is their latest?" asked the Engineer, who had been away on
business.

"Nothing much," replied the Student. "They arrived in New York,
and hired a public hall, and talked about the war and about Germany, and
announced to all who would listen that 'we should close the door of the
past,' and that the time had come to clasp hands with the enemy."

"Nothing new about that," commented the Engineer, creaking disgust
as he spoke. "I thought they were always doing that. Anyway, there are
thousands of others who are, not only in America, but' in England, and
even in France, among the Socialists. So, as a revelation, it lacked
originality. An echo, I would call it."

"That is what I was saying," laughed the Student. "But I doubt if

62

ON THE SCREEN OF TIME 63

they do any harm. Even their use of the word Theosophy contains its
own antidote, — for those who really seek Theosophy."

"But about the so-called peace," said the Historian, tired of the
digression, and with his mind full of Versailles and the morning paper, —
"when it comes to action for or against the terms which the people over
there are undoubtedly going to agree to, it seems to me that we shall be
forced to choose between evils. The ideal is not on the map. And the
outcome will not be as bad as it might have been, thanks to some level
heads among the dreamers. You either vote for the thing, or you vote
against it, and if you vote against it, you vote for the friends of Germany
and the frenzied enemies of England, not to mention the Bolsheviki."

"We of course do not yet know what the terms of peace are to be,"
the Philosopher remarked at this point. "But I do not agree in the least
with your premises. There is no such thing as an obligatory choice
between evils. Assuming that you are confronted by two paths, and
that you can neither stand still nor turn back (though in most cases you
can stand still if you want to), it follows that one of the two paths is
right, relatively to the other, which in that case, relatively, is the wrong
path. I have no desire to quarrel with you about terms, but I believe
sincerely that a great deal of harm is done by speaking of choice as
you did."

"I agree with you," replied the Historian. "I was wrong. But I
would like to know if you agreed with my opening statement about the
burglar, because I cannot see that terms have anything to do with that.
The situation strikes me as elementary in its simplicity."

"I am in complete accord with you," the Philosopher answered.
"Germany, so far as her government is concerned, stands before the
world as an unrepentant criminal, caught red-handed, as you said.
Everything which her representatives have done at the so-called Peace
Conference, has proved that the warnings which the QUARTERLY has
published, not only since the armistice but for long before it, were
absolutely sound and true. Germany has not repented in the least.
If she had the power, she would repeat every one of her crimes to-
morrow,— that is, if she thought she could escape punishment for them.

"Individual Germans may have repented, for themselves, or for
their nation, or for both. But if they have, it is for them to say so, and
not to take it for granted that others will know and understand. That is
not the attitude of a penitent. A real penitent is not only anxious to
make amends, and literally to go on his knees to those he has injured,
but is anxious also to confess his sins, that his own heart may be
relieved to that extent of its burden."

"All of you agreed, months ago," interrupted the Gael, who had
joined us on the verandah while the Philosopher had been answering the
Historian, "that the armistice had reduced the war from a conflict of
principle to a conflict of expediencies, and that we have another hundred
years or so of work to do, hammering the meaning of principle into

64 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

tough heads, before enough people will understand to make a conclusive
war possible. The Student went so far as to promise to meet me on the
ruins of Berlin in 1985, — or some other date, I forget what. He denies
it ! Never mind : his denial will not affect the outcome . . . The
point is, I propose we begin, and that we begin on ourselves. I have
here two letters, addressed to a religious community, dealing with the
principle and practice of obedience. They were written, I am told,
last year, with an interval of some months between them. If there is any
fighting to be done 'next time,' now is the hour to prepare for it. The
right kind of discipline, which means the opposite of German discipline,
will be essential to success . . . Suppose I read these letters to you ?"

We asked him to do so.

"My friends," he said, his tone changing, "many years ago, in
London, when H. P. B. was there, some fools at Avenue Road were
anxious to leave her and go to India and beyond it, to the Lodge.
She told them that they could make their own India, right there, where
they were. At least, — thus have I heard. Why should not we place
ourselves, right now, in the Lodge, and study and think as in the presence
of the disciples who are there? This is the first letter:

" 'I know that you will be considering the problem of obedience, and
that you must already have had some experience of the difficulties
involved. I should like to be able to help you solve those problems,
though that can only be done effectively by yourselves, as the result of
many failures and of constructive self-examination. There are, however,
one or two elementary rules which ought to be kept in mind and which I
shall be grateful if you will let me bring to your attention.

" 'First and foremost, obedience should never be rendered to an
individual as such. If you, by your own attitude, choose to confer
authority upon some individual, it should be done because he represents
something very much greater than he or any other individual is or can
be in themselves. This is something which a great many people to-day
find it difficult to understand. They are not brought up to respect an
office in and for itself. If they happen to despise the individual who
fills the office of President of the nation, they do not find it easy to
distinguish between him and the position which their own self-respect
requires them to honour. In the army, it is the uniform that is respected,
quite regardless of the man inside of it. The soldier salutes his superior
officer, without any thought of his superior's personal identity; and he
does this because his superior officer represents, not only the flag, but
the dignity of national service. In order to be in the true sense of the
word a soldier, he owes it to himself to obey and to respect his superior.

" 'This bases obedience on self-respect, which is a good foundation,
and an essential part of any adequate foundation for obedience. At the
same time, for discipleship, it is insufficient. The attitude of a true
Religious is that his superior represents the Master. If he happens to

ON THE SCREEN OF TIME 65

like that superior personally, and finds personal pleasure in carrying out
his orders, he regards this as a disadvantage, supposing that he is really
striving for perfection. What would help him most would be the
conquest of self involved in a ceaseless struggle to remember that, in
spite of personal unattractiveness, his superior should be obeyed because
his office makes him the representative of the Master whose will, through
that office, can so easily be known and followed. Even when his superior
makes mistakes, or seems to do so, the novice knows that prompt and
glad and ungrudging obedience will be accepted by the Master with
perhaps greater pleasure than in cases which make it evident, even to
the subordinate, that the orders of the superior are wise.

' 'This does not mean that conscience should ever be violated, or
that in any circumstances whatsoever a subordinate should do something
which he believes wrong, no matter what orders he has received.
Remember that German soldiers cannot be excused for the atrocities
they committed, by pleading that they were merely carrying out orders.
English, French or American soldiers would have refused to obey such
orders, and would have been exonerated if court-martialed for disobe-
dience.

" 'This illustration should make the principle clear, so far as the
supremacy of conscience is concerned. The other point remains, namely,
that it is absolutely fatal in the spiritual life to regard the person as the
reality. You would do well to keep in mind that the word "person" is
derived from the Latin word meaning a mask. Every order or every
expression of a wish should be accepted, if at all, as that of the Master.
To obey anyone less than the Master, would be a grave mistake and would
in time stultify the nature.

" 'If you will imagine the attitude of a devout Catholic who believes
in transubstantiation, and who may realize perfectly that the officiating
priest is entirely mortal, with human weaknesses like the rest of us, you
will, I think, find an analogy which, taken in connection with the military
analogy, should throw light on the whole problem.

" 'At the same time, if you care to consider and perhaps to discuss
what I have written, I shall be very glad to do my best to explain further
my own understanding of this immensely important question.'

"This is the second letter:

" 'This is really a much later instalment on the subject of
obedience, but I submit it to you now because it does not follow that
intervening "chapters" will ever be written, and because it is wise to
keep before us our vision of mountain tops as well as our clear percep-
tion of the next step leading to them.

" 'What I take to be your next step collectively, I tried to explain
in my last letter. It was a step in understanding. My present letter has
the same intention, because no one can give himself completely to

66 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

obedience or to anything else until he has gained a good understanding
of the purpose his efforts should accomplish.

" 'In addition to the many other purposes of obedience, including
the all-important help it provides in the conquest of self-will, — must be
counted practice in the art of divination.

" 'It is the aim of the disciple to express the Master's will in all
that he does, — in his silence as in his speech, in his mind and heart as in
his outer movements. But he does not expect a special revelation of that
will, whenever he desires it or in regard to each duty as he encounters it.
He does not expect detailed instructions, even when given an order to
work for certain specified ends. As between Master and disciple, it is
a bad and not a good sign when much guidance and many orders need
to be given.

" 'The disciple has learned to divine the Master's will. Intuitively,
by sympathy and by thorough grasp of the principles upon which the
Master's conduct is based, the disciple acts as the Master wishes him to
act, with greater or less success depending upon the degree of his inner
attainment.

" 'The daily life of mankind is a graduated infant class in disciple-
ship. The ordinary relations of employer and employee provide constant
opportunity, springing from urgent need for divination. Self-interest
compels effort. The employee, to be successful, to make himself "indis-
pensable," must learn to divine the wishes of his employer. On the one
hand, he must not nag him for instructions. On the other hand, he
must not assume a responsibility and an authority which are not his, and
the assumption of which would lay him open to the question, "Why on
earth did you not ask me?" He must become self-reliant without being
self-assertive. He must not push himself forward, but also he must not
be negative and self-deprecatory. Timidity, supineness, over-conscien-
tiousness (scrupulosity) are hindrances even more serious, perhaps,
than arrogant self-confidence, effrontery, and an obviously reckless
ambition.

" 'The discipline which is forced upon the employee, who in most
cases is unconscious that he is being taught and who learns very, very
slowly, is inculcated as an essential feature of military training. This
was brought out admirably in a recent QUARTERLY review of Marshal
Foch's Principles of War. But it is only on the path of discipleship
that the ultimate purpose of such discipline is made clear. In religion —
as stated in my previous letter — the aspirant consciously seeks the will
of the Master through the will of his immediate Superior. He has
begun to realize that his involuntary self-seeking, and, in general, the
veil which his personality and lower nature interpose between himself
and the Master, make it almost impossible for him to recognize the
Master's will where his own desires are involved. Unable, therefore,
in the very nature of things, to jump to direct obedience to the Master.
except in directions which are free from the attachments of self, — the

ON THE SCREEN OF TIME 67

aspirant voluntarily submits his own will and judgment to an authority
which he accepts as indicative of the Master's, later, as his understanding
increases, adopting this indication or sign-post as an expression in itself
of what the Master desires him to accept as His direct message.

" 'As he advances, passing, we will suppose, from the exoteric to an
association truly spiritual, the aspirant finds the need for divination
more and more urgent. He has learned long since, we must assume, to
obey the letter of the law. He has learned to obey gladly and promptly
instead of grudgingly or resentfully. He has learned to make it easy for
his Superior to give him orders, instead of making it a most unpleasant,
thankless task which his Superior, in obedience to his Superior, must
perform. But then, just because he has advanced and has come into
touch at last with spiritual realities, he finds himself confronted with a
world of paradox. He must learn that to obey truly he may have to
disobey. He must learn that silence may be more expressive than speech
and may convey commands far more imperative. He must learn to obey
in the solitude of his own room as readily as in the presence of his
associates. He must learn that though his Superior be on the other side
of the globe, he can and must discover the Master's will through uninter-
rupted obedience to that Superior. All that the employee and soldier
have learned, he must know by instinct. Divination, for him, has
become the art of arts because he sees it as perpetual discovery of the
Master, and because, as final paradox, the further he advances toward
obedience, the further obedience will recede from him. That which he
has known as rule or as explicit statement, he must now recognize as
elusive spirit and must translate for himself into concrete act, making
manifest in the outer world the divine order of the Master's Kingdom.' "

T.

No man doth safely rule, but he that is glad to be ruled. No man doth
safely rule, but he that hath gladly learned to obey. — THOMAS A KEMPIS.

LETTERS TO STUDENTS

November 6th, 1916
DEAR

. . . It will be a great satisfaction and happiness to me to do
what I can to help you, and I hope that you will feel perfectly free to
ask anything you choose, either verbally or by letter, about your Theo-
sophic studies and your inner life in connection therewith.

I must tell you frankly that my ability to help you will be in large
measure dependent upon the freedom and frankness of our relationship.
That is in your hands absolutely. You can consult me as much or
as little as you choose, tell me as much or as little as you feel inclined.
You are as free as air, and under no obligation so far as I am con-
cerned. I simply am here to give you such assistance as I can when
you desire it. ...

I am at your service and you have my sincerest good wishes.

Yours faithfully,

C. A. GRISCOM.

November 23rd, 1916
DEAR

I much appreciate your letter and the kind things you have said.

Your Rules are admirable. If I wanted to comment on them, I
should say that some of them leaned to the side of being too general :
for instance, "Appreciate proportion, seeing things in their true value,
their relations and inter-relations." There is no doubt that we must
learn to see things in their proper perspective; but how? If you
consider that the seeing of the events of life in proper perspective is
something you particularly need, as very well may be the case, I suggest
that you go a step further than making this ideal a rule. How can
one see things at their true value?

The Master alone sees everything as it is. All we can hope to do
is to learn gradually to relate everything to Him, take everything to
Him, refer everything to Him, measure everything by Him, estimate
everything through Him, enjoy everything with Him, do everything for
Him. So far as we succeed, so far will all events, circumstances and
people find naturally their true place in the scheme of things, and we
shall see their true value. I know of no other way.

Again you write : "Make use of the good forces surrounding you."
Surely. But what are these forces? Name them. Then select one or
two, and think out how best to use those. Try to perfect yourself in
that for a few weeks, and when you feel that you are doing fairly well,
select another force or two and try those.

68

LETTERS TO STUDENTS 69

In other words, holiness consists in doing little things perfectly,
not in doing perfect things a little; or, to put it differently, saintliness
consists in perfection of detail. We must get down to the minutiae of
life and work at them. It does not seem very romantic, — until we try it !

I hope you will not consider this criticism; it is not so meant.
Please let me know whether you agree with me and whether you find
this type of suggestion helpful. I must learn to be helpful, you see,
and you must help me learn.

With best wishes, I am, Sincerely,

C. A. GRISCOM.

April llth, 1917
DEAR

Downtown the employee I value most highly is that one who comes
to me with the fewest troubles, for it means that he is competent and
is doing his job. It is even more true in occultism. We get attention
where we are doing badly, and need to be set straight. This reflection,
which is obvious enough, arose from a re-reading of your letter of
March 15th. I do not find anything to say to you, not because your
letter was inadequate, but because it was so satisfactory.

Your own ideas are excellent, and what I would suggest is your
faithful adherence to them and to your rules. Perhaps a word about
results will not be amiss. It is a problem I have to meet constantly
in my work downtown. My work there is to get results — to accom-
plish things — to make dollars grow where they did not grow before.
How reconcile that very plain duty with the philosophical axiom that
we must not seek for results? I think the attitude is beautifully
described by Martineau who said, "The hardness of our task lies here:
that we have to strive against the grievous things of life, while hope
remains, as if they were evil ; and then, when the stroke has fallen, to
accept them from the hand of God, and doubt not they are good." He
goes on to say that to the loving, trusting heart, this instant change
from strained will to complete surrender, is realized without convulsion.
You see that goes a step deeper into the mysteries of life than the
bald statement that we must not seek for results, or that we should
leave results to Him. But let us strive with all our power to gather
a beautiful nosegay of flowers to give Him, and if we can find only
withered leaves and faded blossoms, let us give it with cheerful hearts,
conscious that we have done our best. He is made happy by the love
which prompted the gift rather than by the scent and sight of the flowers.

With kind regards,

I am, Sincerely,

C. A. GRISCOM.

70 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

April 7th, 1918
DEAR

First let me thank you for the Easter card, which I had hoped to
have a chance to speak of. It was very pretty and I am very grateful.
You are one of the very few who send me a card "all for me alone."

Needless to say I am glad you are back. The hard time you have
had will not hurt. Indeed, as we look back over our life we see more
and more clearly as we grow old, that it was during the hard times
that we made progress. We are so set in our ways and habits; so
"confirmed in wickedness," that it takes more than our ordinary environ-
ment to shake us out of what is often really a spiritual lethargy. So
long as life treats us fairly well, we are apt to be content with a
mediocre performance. . . .

With best wishes, I am,

Sincerely yours,

C. A. GRISCOM.

September 8th, 1918
DEAR

By all means write to me whenever you have any question or
problem which you think I might be able to answer or help. It will
be a great pleasure to me to be of any possible service.

I was glad to receive your letter and your account of your recent
progress. It asks no questions, and I have nothing in mind to suggest
to you. We must digest our knowledge, by living it. Nothing else
counts. And we shall get more knowledge as we do digest that already
ours.

Do not allow yourself to get into a rut. There are thousands of
religious who stay very good and acceptable religious, but who never
become saints. We must all become saints, so we must never be content
with ourselves, or with things as they are; inner things, of course.

With best wishes, I am,

Faithfully yours,

C. A. GRISCOM.

November 10th, 1918

DEAR

There are so many questions in your letter that I am returning it

so as to avoid having to repeat all the questions, which I have numbered.
**********

6. I suggest that you get and read Father Faber's "Growth in Holi-
ness," also "The Ascent of Mount Carmel," by St. John of the Cross,
and St. Teresa's "Autobiography." You can probably get all three books

from the library at , and later on, buy, so as to own,

those you specially like.

LETTERS TO STUDENTS 71

7. What you say is quite true, but there is much more in that
statement "The mind is the great slayer of the Real." Think a moment.
We believe in a spiritual world: we believe that it is possible to com-
municate with that world, to live in and be of it, although in incarnation
in this world. What is it that acts as a barrier and that makes such
conscious communication so rare? With most people it is just plain
sensuality and coarseness, but above this category, take the large number
of really good people, occupants of convents and monasteries, clergy-
men, etc. Surely you see that it is their minds, their pre-conceptions,
their self-imposed limitations, which, in large measure, act as the
barrier.

It will probably be so with you. You actually will be able to "see
and hear" long before you will believe you can; and until you believe
you can, you won't. That is the mind. The mind is essentially evil,
so long as it is dominated by lower nature, just as it is essentially
good when used as an instrument by the soul. At present it uses us
— we do not use it — much.

You cannot write to me too often so long as you have real questions
to ask: as you had in this last letter.

With best wishes, I am,

Sincerely,

C. A. GRISCOM.

And how does a brother become thoughtful?

He acts, O mendicants, in full presence of mind whatever he may do,
in going out and coming in, in looking and watching, in bending in his
arm or stretching it forth, in wearing his robes or carrying his bowl, in
eating and drinking, in consuming or tasting, in walking or standing or
sitting, in sleeping or waking, in talking or in being silent. — BUDDHIST
SUTTAS.

Life, Science, and Art, translated from the French of Ernest Hello, by E. M.
Walker, and published by Washbourne (Benziger Brothers, New York), cloth 50c.,
leather $1.00, is a book that every student of Theosophy would enjoy. It is brilliant.
It is profound. Hello was a Roman Catholic, but he was also a Frenchman, and
this is likely to mean, as it meant in his case, that his Catholicism was universal
and that he considered Rome, if at all, as incidental.

"I have tried to show how Life, Science, and Art are three mirrors, each of
which reflects the same face," — namely, the face of God, is the way in which
Hello describes his life's effort. This little book is made up of chapters from his
larger works, all of which were written before the war. The following quotation
from the chapter entitled "Some Considerations on Charity" will show that he
anticipated at least one of the vital misunderstandings of religion which are preva-
lent today. He says:

"Now, we use the word charity as a weapon against Light, every time when
instead of crushing error we parley with it, under pretext of consideration for the
feelings of others. We employ the word charity as a weapon against Light, every
time we make it serve as an excuse for relaxing our execration of evil. As a
general rule, men love to relax their efforts. There is something in the very act
of faltering which is pleasing to human nature ; and besides, the absence of any
horror of error, evil, sin, and the devil, becomes a plausible excuse for the evil
there is in us. To feel less detestation of evil in general is only perhaps a way of
excusing ourselves for the particular evil we cherish in our own soul."

Writing on the subject of "Indifference", he says:

"... what plunges me in a stupefaction absolutely beyond expression is
neutrality. It is a question of the future of the human race, and of the eternal
future of everything in the universe possessing intelligence and freedom. It is
certainly and of necessity a question of you yourself, as, indeed, of every person
and every thing. Then, unless you are not interested in yourself, nor in anybody
nor anything, it is certainly and of necessity a question of an interest most sacred
to you. If you are alive at all, rouse up the life in you. Take your soul, and rush
into the thick of the fight. Take your wishes, your thoughts, your prayers, your
love. Catch up any weapon which you can possibly wield, and throw yourself
body and soul into the struggle where everything is at stake. Placed on the battle-
field between the fire of those who love and the fire of those who hate, you must
lend your aid to one or the other. Make no mistake about it. The appeal is not
to men in general, it is to you in particular ; for all the moral, mental, physical, and
material gifts at your disposal are so many weapons which God has placed in your
hands, with liberty to use them for or against Him. You must fight ; you are forced
to fight. You can only choose on which side." T.

The Mystery of Gabriel, by Michael Wood, published by Messrs. Longmans,
Green and Co. The QUARTERLY has reviewed the three preceding volumes of this
charming authoress — for we still insist that a woman, and a woman alone, could
write these books. The last is not so well written as either The House of Peace

72

REVIEWS 73

or The Penitent of Brent. It is a series of pictures in the life of a waif picked
up and mothered by an impersonal, selfless, vaguely religious girl, whose own
parents die in the first two chapters. The mystery is Gabriel's enigmatic character,
the result of his own self-contained and repressed nature working on the inevitable
suspicions of outsiders as to his heredity. As he matures, an evil force or diabolic
influence makes itself more and more manifest in him, poisoning his relations
with schoolmates, friends, and companions.

Finally Gabriel goes to Brent — the religious centre directed by Father Standish.
At Brent, Gabriel meets our old acquaintances of the former volumes — and the
re-acquaintance is a pleasure unspoiled by changes. One of these, Jesse Cameron,
inspires Gabriel's trust and confidence, and when the final struggle between the
latent devils of his lower nature, and his real Self takes place, it is the influence
of Jesse — supplemented by the intercessory prayer of an entire stranger — that
prevents his murdering Father Standish while sleeping.

The plot is negligible; and even the thread of the story is broken by leaps in
time that follow one another with startling rapidity. The actual construction of
the book is barely passable, — it lacks workmanship.

Yet, withal, there is the same simple reliance on the spiritual world as the
mainspring of action in this world, — which is always refreshing. How many
novels even attempt to take their stand in the real world? It is this point of
view which marks Michael Wood's books ; and however extravagant the story,
there is a compensating air of reality about them which is hard to shake off.
Father Standish, as usual, gives some eminently sound spiritual advice, and the
book incidentally contains many quotable maxims of spiritual common sense.

There are only occasional bits of lyrical writing; too few, judging by what
the authoress has done in earlier volumes. We should like to see Michael Wood
turn her gifts to some war experiences, viewed, as said, from the inner causal
world of prayer and Divine companionship. A. G.

Letters to Louise, by Jean Delaire, published by The Dharma Press. The
trouble with most books aiming to treat of occultism in the form of fiction is
that they spoil two recognized genres and fail to create a third. It is the trouble
with this book. It embodies a fair enough resume of occult religious philosophy,
such as may easily be found in pamphlet form by students of Theosophy, and
would much better be taken in that form, rather than mixed up with a wild
welter of hysteria, megalomania and experimental love affairs. In the January
number of the QUARTERLY Mr. Griscom spoke of Du Maurier's "Peter Ibbetson"
as one of the most interesting of the occult novels ; and as usual he was right.
"Peter Ibbetson" has what most of them lack, what this one lacks, — distinction,
charm, humor, and above all, the narrator's gift, a thing so desirable in those
who will to narrate. It is furthermore a real love story, with occult implications,
instead of a treatise with Family Herald trimmings.

By a law of compensation it is generally possible to extract some delight
from an absolutely humorless book. The writer of this review would hesitate
to declare that things can or cannot be, but some of them are certainly hard to
believe, and one is the mysterious speed and certainty with which people in occult
novels make their occult recognitions. With no previous training in these mys-
teries, someone (usually the heroine), with instant and unerring precision,
recognizes someone (usually the most important person in sight) as inalienably
her own by right of some claim established thousands of years ago in Babylon,
or Memphis, or Ninevah, or wherever. If this personage stands to the lady in
any position of guide or teacher, if she can call him her "Guru" (she will anyhow),
his fate is sealed. Taking for her motto,

"If I can wheedle a knife or a needle,
Why not a silver churn?"

74 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

she drops her lawful husband and, turning to the hero with "I think we have
met before," springs the Babylonian theory on him. Let us hasten to add that
this particular book ends decorously. The hero in this case had learned a few
things in Babylon, — among them that the duty of another is full of danger.
The lady returns to domesticity and that solace of the strayed theosophist — a
tepid socialism. S.

The Gate of Remembrance, by F. B. Bond, an architect of prominence;
published by Blackwell in Oxford, and by Messrs. Longmans, Green and Co. The
subtitle reads "The story of the psychological experiment which resulted in the
discovery of the Edgar Chapel at Glastonbury" — which sufficiently outlines the
book. It is a record of excavations made among the ruins of Glastonbury Abbey
on the precise information received through the automatic writings of the co-
worker of Mr. Bond, Mr. John Alleyne. Both men were friends of Mr. Everard
Fielding, Secretary of the Society for Psychical Research, of which Mr. Bond
was also a member. Mr. Alleyne sought through his automatism to obtain
information from the spirit world about the "lost" Edgar Chapel, vague and
conflicting records of which existed in various sixteenth to nineteenth century
accounts. The reliability and validity of the writings as reproduced in the book,
together with the dates when received, are attested to the satisfaction of the
Secretary of the S. P. R., while a note by Sir William Barrett, F. R. S.,
further testifies "to the genuineness of the whole narrative."

The book, therefore, has two decided interests, — the first, as an experiment in
spiritualistic mediumship through automatic writing; and the second, as to the
actual increase of our knowledge about Glastonbury Abbey. For the latter, suffice
it to say that the actual remains of the Edgar Chapel have been recovered, with
evidence sufficient to prove its size, shape, and fairly complete architectural details
of interior construction. A certain light has also been thrown on the "obscure
problem of the Loretto Chapel," foundations for some such structure being found
in an entirely different place than that usually assigned to it. In each case, the
psychic information obtained as to the exact location, size, and structure of the
Chapels was at variance with the best guesses of architects attempting to recon-
struct the old buildings from the scanty descriptions handed down, and from
the still more scanty visible remains. The material assistance of Mr. Alleyne's
automatism, therefore, cannot be gainsaid. The Edgar Chapel has been laid bare,
and its proportions and architectural detail, as far as may be known, even to
the colour of the glass — "Et vitrea azurea," — and window-glass of azure, — many
fragments of which were found. A difficult, and hitherto unsolved archeological
problem has been solved by this means; without question primarily due to the
precise directions received through automatic writing.

The success of Mr. Bond and Mr. Alleyne seems, therefore, to be established.
As to the actual light thrown on psychical phenomena and the raison d'etre of
automatic writing, and as to whether there is any likelihood of further similar
experiments being successfully performed, — these are other questions.

Certain facts stand out. Neither Mr. Bond nor Mr. Alleyne "favoured the
ordinary spiritualistic hypothesis which would see in these phenomena the action
of discarnate intelligences from the outside upon the physical or nervous organi-
sation of the sitters." They believe, with sufficient vagueness to be sure, that
"the embodied consciousness of every individual is but a part, and a fragmentary
part, of a transcendent whole, and that within the mind of each there is a door
through which Reality may enter as Idea — Idea presupposing a greater, even a
cosmic Memory, conscious or unconscious, active or latent, and embracing not
only all individual experience and revivifying forgotten pages of life, but also
Idea involving yet wider fields, transcending the ordinary limits of time, space,
and personality."

REVIEWS 75

In other words, Mr. Bond has a vision of man's finite mind reaching out
and up to the spiritual unity of an infinite spiritual universe. And this vision
is all very well. But such exalted ideas and words seem to have little to do
with the actual experiment in hand, which was a very definite, limited, personal
affair. Instead of reaching up to the spiritual world of Buddhi-Manas, as his
theories would suggest, he quite clearly reached no higher than the reflection of
that world — Kama Manas — the astral. The communications he received have
several quite individualistic touches, and in themselves purport to be the efforts
of certain clearly defined personalities to convey the desired information. Names
and dates are specifically given. "Johannes De Glaston," "Reginaldus qui obiit
1214," "Beere, Abbas" — the last the name of him who built the Edgar Chapel —
"Robert. Anno 1334. Glaston" are some of the signatures to characteristic
scripts. And these scripts are one and all typical products of the astral light,
queer mixtures of the definite and precise with vague, meaningless generalities.
The language is a very curious and apparently senseless mixture of vulgar Latin,
ecclesiastical Latin, old English of differing periods, and quite modern English.
One of the "spirits" — or Kamalokic spooks as it may be suspected they were —
understands quite clearly what he himself is. He writes : "Why cling I to that
which is not? It is I, and it is not I, butt parte of me which dwelleth in the
past and is bound to that whych my carnal soul loved and called 'home' these
many years. Yet I, Johannes, amm of many partes, and ye better parte doeth
other things — Laus, Laus Deo ! — only that part which remembreth clingeth like
memory to what it seeth yet." In other words, the soul of this cheery, com-
panionable old monk has gone on — Laus Deo! — and his carnal parts cling "like
memory" to the scenes of his incarnate life, willing and eager to talk of himself
and his loved Abbey to any interested medium. To call such an expression
a part of one's own consciousness rather than that of some "discarnate intelli-
gence," and to think that one is in touch within oneself with a "cosmic Memory
. . . transcending the ordinary limits of time, space, and personality" is to
theorize without regard to the facts in hand. We might ask why the medium did
not get into rapport with the "better parte" of Johannes, instead of merely his
memory, inhabiting Kama-loka.

Moreover, we shall do well to remember that however verified in detail these
communications may have been, spiritual knowledge, intuition "with certainty,"
accurate memory of the past, do not come through ouija-boards, automatism, and
practically involuntary mediumship. We would not wish to be, and we are not,
dependent upon such methods for sure and certain, nay, absolutely scientific
knowledge about the past. There is an absolute spiritual world of Truth and
Fact, which includes what our limited minds describe as memory. And there
are also the reflections of this world; the crudest and most material being our
physical world, and next above that, more mobile and lucent, the astral or psychic
world, — more mobile and penetrable as water is to earth, but still limited. Sight
and entrance into certain reaches of this psychic world are not given to many
men in our generation. And to those to whom this is possible, the greatest care
is necessary to distinguish between the water itself and what it contains, the
reflection of the sky above, and the added reflection of him who gazes. All three
things are seen inter-penetrating in the one field of vision ; and may become a
source of confusion and error.

Mr. Bond has tested certain of the messages by actual digging in the earth,
and in so far he proved that the psychic reflections he and Mr. Alleyne obtained
were valid and undistorted. But it should not be overlooked that many sittings
contained no relevant matter whatsoever, and even manifested a pernicious and
dangerous tendency to concern themselves with the defence of Germany and the
Germans — a tendency of which there have been many instances in recent psychic
communications in England and America. This fact should serve as a reminder

76 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

that the psychic world is not per se good and wise simply because it is less
limited than our every-day world, but that it is after all our world disencumbered
of a certain dead weight of matter, and must be considered as such.

Mr. Bond's is an exceedingly interesting and practically tested attempt to
reconstruct Glastonbury, as was Donnelly's attempt to reconstruct Atlantis. But
in this instance, it would be a mistake, we feel, to think that the automatic
writings here recorded come from "a more contemplative element in the mind."
They are too much "the mere brain-record, the husk, the mechanism" of the
memories of past personalities — "scattered as the chaff, shaken off as a discarded
coat," and picked up by Mr. Alleyne. Glastonbury has more to give than stone
walls and human memories. A. G.

So long as the brethren shall exercise themselves in this sevenfold
higher wisdom, that is to say, in mental activity, search after truth, energy,
joy, peace, earnest contemplation, and equanimity of mind, so long may
the brethren be expected not to decline, but to prosper. — BUDDHIST

SUTTAS.

And in the same way, Vasettha, there are these five hindrances, in
the Discipline of the Noble One, which are called "veils" and are called
"hindrances," and are called "obstacles," and are called "entanglements."

Which are the five?

The hindrance of lustful desire:

The hindrance of malice:

The hindrance of sloth and idleness:

The hindrance of pride and self -righteousness:

The hindrance of doubt.

— BUDDHIST SUTTAS.

[In view of the widespread misunderstandings of Brotherhood and its relation
to Socialism and of the present importance of the subject, the following question
and answer is reprinted from the QUARTERLY of January, 1909.]

QUESTION. — I am unable to understand why the THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
takes the attitude it does toward Socialism. I am not a Socialist, though I am
acquainted with many who so call themselves; but Socialism is a Brotherhood,
and works specifically for the helping and uplifting of Humanity. Why then
is not Theosophy, which has the same fundamental objects, in sympathy with
it? Surely it cannot be because of different views regarding economic adjust-
ments, as such details zvould hardly seem to come ivithin the general scope of
Theosophic teaching and practice. I would be glad of some definite points.

P. K. S.

ANSWER. — The Editor of the QUARTERLY has sent this question to me for reply,
knowing that I am in so sense a Socialist, but that I have been for many years
a close student of it from various points of view. It is a large and complicated
subject — an incoherent subject in its present stage of indefinite ideals and diverse
conclusions and opinions — and therefore one hardly to be dealt with in the
contracted space of the "Questions and Answers." I should think, furthermore,
that so far as essential points are concerned, the querent might have found many
of these in the various articles on the subject which have appeared in this journal
from time to time, and to which reference is made. I may, however, offer
certain suggestions which to my mind are pertinent, and afford no escape from
the conclusion that the two view-points — Theosophy and Socialism — are, and
always must be, diametrically opposed.

First, on this matter of Brotherhood. Here Socialism builds a fence and
says all who are within it are Brothers ; all without, unless or until they can be
brought within its limits, are enemies or at least outsiders. (Of course I do
not speak of the bitter or aggressive forms of Socialism, as these could hardly
enter into our discussion.) This is an immediate recognition of sect or caste
or creed; call it what you will, the idea is the same. Theosophy says all men are
Brothers, regardless of race or sect or creed, or color, or any other distinction ;
regardless of their goodness or evil; regardless of their recognition of the fact or
their opposition to it; regardless of whether they are friends of society, or
enemies of it. For this Brotherhood is not an organization, nor can it consist
in organization, no matter how widespread or broad, but is in itself a fundamental
fact in Nature, the oneness or identity of all souls with the Oversoul. This
oneness of soul may and does co-exist with the utmost divergence of mind and
emotion. Therefore Theosophy says that for the realization of this Brotherhood,
man must become a more spiritual being, must grow into closer contact with the
soul where this condition perpetually obtains, and that all which makes man
more spiritual makes of necessity for Brotherhood, and all which tends to make
him more material, makes against it. S'o much for theory — the briefest possible
indication, but careful study will demonstrate more and more the fundamental
cleavage in the two conceptions. Then as to practice. Theosophy holds that

77

78 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

Socialism makes not for but against Brotherhood in that it makes for material,
not for spiritual aims. Theosophy holds that man makes environment, not
environment the man, since the soul under propulsion of wisely directed Divine
Law, is pushing forever and ceaselessly upward and outward. Theosophy holds
that it is our inestimable privilege to aid this process; first by recognition of it;
second by rigid self-purification ("take first the beam from thine own eye, then
shalt thou see clearly to take the mote from thy brother's eye"), and third by
removing as far as possible all which impedes the full action of this Divine Law
in the Universe. In many a detail it could here join hands with Socialism in
special acts of reform, but it sees, and sees clearly, that Socialism's material
attitude towards reform is a far greater bar to genuine progress than the matters
it seeks to redress; and, therefore, as turning men's minds towards the body and
away from the soul, Socialism constitutes a barrier in itself to advance, as largely
representative of the ignorance and blindness of the mind absorbed in matter,
to its true and enduring interest.

The ethics of Socialism preclude belief in the immortality of the soul. I
know that this has been and will be vehemently denied; nevertheless those to
whom the immortality of the soul is not an accepted theory but a living fact,
can read my meaning. "According to your faith be it done unto you," said the
Master. We need then above all things to widen and deepen our faith. In
these days faith is being wonderfully broadened, but with a tendency to become
shallower; the amount often being no greater, but merely distributed differently.
Theosophy rests upon the soul and the soul alone. In its teaching the body is a
shadow that comes and goes according as the Light is placed. That which causes
the shadow therefore is its concern — the Light and that which stands before it.

D. R. T.

QUESTION No. 232.— Will you please express in other terms these words from
"Light on the Path": "The oscillation in which he lives is for an instant stilled;
and he has to survive the shock of facing what seems to him at first sight as the
abyss of nothingness. Not till he has learned to dwell in this abyss and has found
its peace, is it possible for his eyes to become incapable of tears."

ANSWER. — The oscillations are the changing phases of the brain mind, and its
appreciations of sensations, physical, psychic and mental. It means the activities
of the personal self. When the man has silenced and stilled these, there is the
shock of facing what appears to be the negation of all that has been his life and
purpose in life. Much of this is expressed better than I can translate it in
Through the Gates of Gold. When the personal self is stilled a higher life opens
out, for man can live in the eternal in place of in the personal, the evanescent, and
the perishable; and when the personal motives of that self are stilled, the eyes are
incapable of tears of regret and self-pity. A. K.

ANSWER. — Light on the Path says : "These rules are written for all
disciples: Attend you to them." Therefore we may learn from this little book
and its rules, what disciples and discipleship are like, what they mean; and
how, if we "attend," give our attention to them — not merely sliding over them
with the surface apprehension of the mind — we may in time become ourselves
disciples. For discipleship is a way, a path : hence we can only learn to know it
and to become familiar with it by treading it We must study the rules, but
only can we get the heart of them by experimenting with them, by living by them.
A road may be described to us many times, we may even see photographs of it,
yet every one who has had the experience — a very common one indeed — has
discovered how much the reality, when we travel it, varies from our understanding
based on picture and word. This initial explanation and warning is requisite that
we may not have too fixed notions as the result of intellectual consideration*

QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS 79

merely, as these, until checked or modified by experience, are always distorted
and inaccurate.

What then, first, do we mean by the word disciple, when we say these rules
are for him? Among the great Brothers of the Lodge, that man is counted a
disciple in full fact, when the inner consciousness and the outer consciousness
have become one, — when, in other terms, the man is conscious of his discipleship,
not merely wondering about it, or longing for it; when his sense of belonging
to a Master, and the loving determination to follow and serve that Master,
to the death if need be, has become the one all-absorbing desire and intention of
his life. He may not know even who that Master is : he may only feel him
there in the inner world : but that feeling is so intense and awakens such devotion
and longing, that every other interest pales into insignificance beside it.

You can see from this that the actual knowledge may be slight, but the feeling
cannot be slight for the man to be counted a disciple in this technical sense.
Recognition there may not be, understanding there may not be, but an intensity
of feeling, a desire that will not, that cannot be denied, must exist, — a hunger
and a thirst that give no rest day or night, based on an unalterable conviction
that the object of desire is there, to be found, to be attained, and that no price
is too high to pay for it. When the man in his personality feels in this manner,
then that man is reckoned a disciple, whatever his limitations may be, at what-
ever point in evolution he may stand in regard to the acquirement of "powers,"
to whatever grade or class of discipleship he might have to be assigned.

Approaching the study of Light on the Path in such a condition, we see easily
the intensity of his application to its rules, and can guess somewhat of the light
which the white heat of his desire would shed upon them. Let us try, so
far as intellectually we are able, to see by this light. "Before the eyes can see
they must be incapable of tears"; — before the man, as man, as personality, as an
individual engaged in the common affairs of life, as a man looking out intelligently
upon the city street or the country lanes or into the faces of his acquaintances,
can at the same time look into the inner world, not in a vision or an ecstasy,
but quite simply and directly, as easily as he turns his head and looks out of
the window, — before the man can do this, his ordinary eyes (perceptive powers),
must be incapable of weeping over the illusions of outer events. This does not
mean that he will never have tears in the eyes of his soul, — Ah! no: hot, bitter
tears there often. But what is the difference? Well, something like this. If
he meet with pain or misfortune or grief, he will not see much to distress
him in that, so be the cause is exterior. If a brother disciple be in trouble, there
is much to distress him. But if the Master be in trouble, if his ,work be endan-
gered, then there is deepest distress — a distress that turns his will to steel,
that solidifies every determination, that fills him with strength and courage, —
an heroic ardour to dare all and give all and suffer all. If through his own
fault the trouble has arisen, if the traitors in his own breast have betrayed him,
or momentary inattention has missed a coveted opportunity of service, perhaps
thrown added work upon his Master, are there not tears then in the eyes of
his soul? But such tears are these as men shed in the sternness of a great
resolve or the exultation of a great sacrifice. And so on through all those
initial rules. They could be elaborated endlessly, since every phase of human
experience that has ever been or shall ever be, in the eternal passing from this
plane of consciousness to that other, is contained in them. That of course which
pushes the man forward is the intensity of his desire — the ceaseless gnawing of
his hunger, his fixed determination to reach his Master, known or unknown.
And because of that, he goes on only half conscious of what he is doing, so
fixed is his intent upon his goal. But there are two factors to be considered here,
closely mterblended. One is that the man must be conscious of what he is doing.
The Law cannot allow him to commit himself in the dark. He must face the

80 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

situation and make his decision with realization of what he is doing. He is
not to make his supreme sacrifice, to lay down once and for ever his ordinary life
and consciousness, under the influence of narcotics or of stimulants. His sacrifice
is to be made calmly, deliberately, with fullest sense that it is a sacrifice.

And so for "an instant" every process that has been going on in him is
stilled. His enthusiasm is gone, his vision is gone, his courage goes with them,
and his faith. And all sense of his Master goes also, for with that he would
have everything. His Master demands this — here we have the second factor.
It is the divine jealousy of spiritual love that will have all or nothing. Each
Master represents the great 'Lodge, the Law. He is custodian of these for his
Ray; and it is a necessity of his very being that he shall be immaculately true
to his trust. So the whole heart and nature must be given, nothing held back
anywhere, by the disciple. This utter loss and desolation is well named the
"abyss of nothingness," for to the disciple's consciousness there is nothing that
remains, no hope, no life, no heaven. If he has lived and worked intelligently
up to this point, however, one thing he has, — the sense of his own existence,
which his very pain proves to him. And holding on to that, he can steady his
will, on which at this supreme moment his salvation depends. If in past days
his love has tempered his will to that of his Master, he will now be able to
hold on, — all that is necessary. For as he holds on, doggedly determined in his
anguish not to relinquish his grip, a peace comes over him, and in that peace
he falls asleep. When he wakes it is to a new heaven and a new earth, to the
comprehension of a fuller life, and a love which obliterates all doubt and fear.
This experience may be of brief duration, or it may take a long period of time.
Love is the cause of it, love determines its length and intensity, love is its
complete and all sufficient reward. CAV£.

QUESTION No. 233. — It has been said that the Masters are ever ready to under-
take the liberation of the individual. Have the Huns reached the point where
there is no liberation possible? Is there such a point?

ANSWER. — If a man were to pursue his own will and pleasure, in defiance of
the laws of right, he would become an ogre of crime and bestiality, as the Hun
has become. He arrives finally in the gutter. When he has had his fill of that,
and of the suffering which the gutter inflicts upon him, he may turn in desperation
and disgust, away from his own will to whatever will he recognizes as wiser
and better than his own. In any case, he is given an opportunity to repent, to
turn, to be "converted." In many cases the opportunity is thrown away, and
the man dies in the hell which he has made for himself. It may be that the
Hun will continue to reject his opportunity, as he is now doing. However that
may be, there is an exact correspondence between the individual and the nation.

H.

ANSWER. — The liberation of the individual is the essence of the matter. I
think with the suffering comes the opportunity of gaining knowledge and libera-
tion, as well as the acquisition of qualities which may keep the individual free. The
individual German would have the chance of getting free from the collective
Karma of his nation provided he follows a higher ideal. But the Hun as a whole
has been so purposely debased as regards all kinds of ideals that it is difficult to
see where liberation is possible for the nation. Still, the Masters know all the
details, and can see a way where ordinary eyes are blind. And if the various
units of the peoples of Germany can rise to the ideal, and forget themselves and
the degraded self-interest which they have been taught as an ideal, we can be
very sure that no way to liberation will be closed to them. The allied nations
may not be all that is ideal, but what would the Hun have become, and what

QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS 81

would the world have become under Hunnish direction? One might surely argue
that there must be some good in the Hun from the very fact that he has been
given a chance. A. K.

QUESTION No. 234. — Does the disciple's attitude toward nature, differ -from that
of the ordinary man?

ANSWER. — Yes, radically. The ordinary man approaches nature for the pur-
pose of obtaining self-satisfaction from his contact with it. The disciple realizes
that absolutely everything which God has created, or, in other words, everything
which has evolved, is intended to serve man as a door, opening directly into
the spiritual world. A flower, for instance, should be regarded as one of these
innumerable doors. If we enter through that door, we shall find our Master
standing on the other side. This does not necessarily mean that we shall see
him bodily. It does mean, however, that we should find at least as much of
him as we find after reading some poem, the work of God through man, which
has deeply moved our hearts and stirred our wills, lifting us to clearer recognition
of the Master's qualities and causing us to worship those qualities more ardently
and truly.

Man, having "sought out many inventions," has done his utmost to convert
each door to the spiritual world, into a doorway leading directly into hell.
For the most part he has succeeded. But there still are many doorways which
man's perversity has overlooked. He has not been able to degrade the sky, or
the earth, or the flowers of the field, or the wilder animals. It is primarily his
own faculties and functions which he has misused for the satisfaction of his
lusts and appetites. The more divine the faculty or function, the more horrible
the perversion. There is no field of creative art which he has not prostituted.
None the less, God still intends that natural things shall be brought back to their
original purposes, and we can help this process of re-conversion by habitual
recognition of what those purposes were and are. Thus, in the case of a poem,
we should seek always for "the fruit of our meditation," of our reading. We
should begin to read it with the hope that it may prove itself to be a door
into the spiritual world. We should look at a picture or listen to music in
exactly the same way. If, in spite of our best efforts, we find that poem or
painting of' music, opens the other way, we should reject it instantly as being
of the devil. It must always be remembered, however, that while man has
done more to pervert beauty than either truth or goodness, — beauty remains in
itself as pure a channel to divinity as the other two. The fact is that man
tries to separate that Platonic trinity, while God insists that forever they shall
remain inseparable. E. T. H.

QUESTION No. 235. — In the QUARTERLY please tell me the meaning of the word
Namastae, -with which Letter IV in the first volume of the "Letters That Have
Helped Me," ends.

ANSWER. — "Namas te" is Sanskrit for "Obeisance to thee." Namas, from the
root nam, to bend, is akin to Latin numen, divinity, from nuo, "nod," from the
nod of Zeus. So Namastae is "bowing to thee," a fitting ending for a note.

C. J.

QUESTION No. 236. — "Light on the Path says: "Seek the way by retreating
within." The Bible says: "The Kingdom of Heaven is within you." How can
one learn to know this with one's heart and live in that Kingdom?

If the Kingdom is within, then the King must be there too. Is one to pray
to that King? And in trying constantly to identify oneself with the Higher Self
is there not danger of confusing the two, or is it true that the King and the Higher
Self are one?

82 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

ANSWER. — Surely for us the King and the Higher Self are one. In the title
of "The Christ" the idea is conveyed: as it also is in that of "The Buddha" or in
that of "Jivanmukti" ; and when we are told to "Seek out the Way," we are also
told, "Seek it not by any one road." To answer the first part of the question
would be to reprint all the books on Devotion that have been written. Take
Patanjali's Yoga Aphorisms, the Bhagavad Gita, the Voice of the Silence, the
Sermon on the Mount — do what you are told, and discipline your external life in
accordance, so living the exterior life that you extract the spiritual essence of it.
Then surely you will be living in the Kingdom, and will know it in your heart.
We have it all on record that he may read who runs, and the method may be found
in the little book on Meditation. "If then ye know these things, happy are ye
if ye do them." The aspirant is directed to "try" : and is told, "Seek and ye shall
find": but the search must be with your whole heart. A. K.

ANSWER. — The answer is in the question: "Seek." "Seek and ye shall find."
The King, the Warrior is indeed within the Kingdom, and should be sought
in all ways ; prayer, praise, thanksgiving, devotion, and obedience ; all expressions
of love. C. J.

ANSWER. — A very homely illustration has been used to make clearer what
"within" means; — it is the paper design on the tin container of Royal Baking
Powder. We see a series of containers, developing inwardly. In a similar way, we
can think of halls of consciousness, opening, one within the other, not until they stop
thus opening, but until the eye and mind can no longer follow. Both questions seem
to imply the same error, namely, that the student and the Master are the only two
concerned in this process of learning. The hierarchical principle would lead one to
postulate many grades between a student and a Master, — perhaps there might be
Representatives living on the same plane with the student ; their suggestions, com-
ments, instructions would be very indicative.

A few years ago I read in a newspaper an account of an enquirer's visit to
some Swami. The Swami sat in familiar ease, discoursing without stint.

"I am the All !" he said, "I am the limitless Ocean of Consciousness !" After
these and similar statements, the Swami, according to the account, fell into a
towering rage with a servant who had irritated him, and then explained that the
rage was the rage of the "limitless Ocean." We can see two things clearly from
this narrative. First, the Swami had an intuition of the Divine Life. That is
commendable. The Swami was not a materialist. But, the Swami identified that
Divine Life with his own lower nature. That is a fatal mistake. An average
spiritual director could have pointed out the Swami's error. Can we think of our
Higher Self as an ideal for us formed by the Master? If we make that ideal our
aspiration, we shall be centered in something of His, not in something of our own.

S. M.

ANSWER. — As one reads this question there springs up a longing to have the
address of the questioner, in order to send off by special delivery one's copy of
Fragments, Volume I, with a note saying: "Please turn to page 75, beginning with
'One question asked of me repeatedly is: How shall I find the Masters?' for there
you will find your question analyzed and answered." S.

ANSWER. — Said one of the Wise to a questioner : "How do you pray — for unless
you pray to that which you see asi within you, you pray in vain." Said the stupid
one : "But how can the Master be within me — sinner that I be ?" Said the one who
is wise : "If the Master were not within you, you were indeed lost. Has He not
said that we are His children and does not even modern science admit that the
primal cell from which we are builded is part of our whole ancestral line? Is this
the less true of our spiritual nature? Strengthen the Master within you that He
may rule you indeed and as you keep His Commandments, has He not promised
that both He and His Father will abide with you?" SMITH.

REPORT OF THE ANNUAL CONVENTION OF THE THEOSOPHICAL

SOCIETY

Responding to the call of the Executive Committee, the Annual Convention
of The Theosophical Society was held at 21 Macdougal Alley, New York, on
Saturday, April 26th, 1919. Before the hour stated for the opening of the Con-
vention, there were assembled delegates from all the Branches represented, mem-
bers at large, and members of the New York Branch and other nearby Branches.

MORNING SESSION

At 10.30 a. m. the Convention was called to order by Mr. E. T. Hargrove,
the ranking member of the Executive Committee, who explained that in the
absence of the Chairman of the Executive Committee, Mr. Charles Johnston, on
war duty in Washington, it was his duty to ask the wish of the Convention in
regard to its temporary organization. Professor H. B. Mitchell nominated Mr.
Hargrove as Temporary Chairman, and Miss Julia Chickering as Temporary Sec-
retary. Mr. George Woodbridge seconded the nomination, and they were unani-
mously elected. Mr. Hargrove, taking the Chair, asked for a motion as to the
first step necessary toward organization, — the selection of a Committee on Creden-
tials. It was moved by Mr. J. F. B. Mitchell, and seconded by the Reverend
Acton Griscom, that the Chair appoint this Committee. The Temporary
Chairman named as the Committee on Credentials, Professor Mitchell, Miss I. E.
Perkins, and Miss M. E. Youngs. After some opening remarks by the Temporary
Chairman and by Mr. Woodbridge, the report of the Committee on Credentials
was presented by Professor Mitchell, Chairman of the Committee, who stated
that the credentials received showed that twenty Branches were represented by
delegates and proxies, entitled to cast one hundred and eight votes. [In addition
to the Branches so represented, credentials were later received for the Branches
marked with an asterisk in the following list. These were recorded when
received, but they were too late to be represented in the list of Branches voting.]

Blavatsky, Seattle, Wash.

Blavatsky, Washington, D. C.

Cincinnati, Cincinnati, O.

Hope, Providence, R. I.

Indianapolis, Indianapolis, Ind.

Middletown, Middletown, O.

New York, New York

Pacific, Los Angeles, Cal.

Providence, Providence, R. I.

Stockton, Stockton, Cal.

Toronto, Toronto, Canada

Virya, Denver, Colo.

Altagracia de Orituco, Altagracia de Orituco, Venezuela

83

84

Arvika, Arvika, Sweden*

Aurvanga, Kristiania, Norway

Jehoshua, San Fernando de Apure, Venezuela

Karma, Kristiania, Norway*

Krishna, South Shields, England

London, London, England

Newcastle-on-Tyne, Newcastle-on-Tyne, England

Norfolk, England

Venezuela, Caracas, Venezuela

It was moved and seconded that the Report of the Committee on Credentials
be accepted with thanks ; so voted. The Temporary Chairman stated that the
next business before the Convention was permanent organization.

PERMANENT CHAIRMAN

On motion made and seconded, Professor Mitchell was elected Permanent
Chairman, and took the Chair.

PERMANENT CHAIRMAN : I do not need to renew the welcome that has just
been extended to the Convention in the name of the New York Branch, as whose
representative you have again made me your Chairman. We all know that, with
whatever grace of humour it was presented, it was very sincere and heartfelt,
so that I have but to add to it my own grateful thanks for the high honour
you have conferred upon me, and my deep sense of the responsibility that honour
involves.

We meet together here to-day, delegates and members of The Theosophical
Society, as humanity's trustees for a heritage so great that it can be limited
only by our own capacity to receive and to transmit. It is a heritage of truth ;
not of the knowledge of temporal things, which change and pass from form to
form, and whose truth therefore, too, must forever change and forever be recast;
but a heritage of eternal truth, because the truth of eternal things. It is a
heritage of life; of life that is immortal, because it is the life laid down, freed
and surrendered, not claimed or held for self. It is the heritage of Theosophy,
of theou sophia, the Wisdom of God.

It comes to us from every age and clime, from every quarter of the globe;
from the snows of the Himalayas and the plains of India; from Krishna and
Arjuna, and Buddha, the Compassionate; from Isis and Osiris, and the temples
by the Nile; from the groves of Athens and the sands of Arabia; from the
Cross on Calvary; from the prisons of Palestine and the arena at Rome; from
the cloisters of the middle ages, and the flaming fagots in the market place in
Rouen ; from the battlefields of Europe, and from the hearts of unnumbered
myriads of unknown men and women who have faced and conquered self in
simple obedience to their vision of the right. It has been won and builded for
us by that long line of seers and saints and martyrs, the pure in heart and
warrior souled, that we may trace from the earliest dawn of history down to our
own time and hour — down to those whom we meet day by day in the path
of our discipleship, whom we have known and loved as comrades, whom we
have called our friends. Age after age, century after century, they have come
forth from the great Lodge they serve, to live and labour and die; to pour out
their treasure to the last mite, their life to its last breath, to give to us and to
the world the heritage that is ours. It is their truth, their life, we hold in our
hands to-day; their footsteps that mark the path we have travelled to the untrod
future at whose gates we stand, their power which strengthens us to fulfill their
trust. And as we look back over the forty-four years since The Theosophical
Society was founded — the years in which these age-long labours brought their
fruits within our reach — we know the passion of gratitude that rises in our

T. S. ACTIVITIES 85

hearts ; the love and gratitude we bear to those who died, that the world — that
we — might learn to live. We can say something of what we feel for some of
our great companions of the past.

The great outstanding event of the past year is the death of Mr. Griscom.
But his loss is too recent and too irreparable, it has left too deep a wound in
all our hearts, for it to be possible to speak now of our love for him, or of
what we owe to those thirty three years of unswerving devotion in which he
gave his whole great heart and soul to us. It is impossible for me to speak.
It would be impossible for you to listen.

It is, I know, customary in ordinary organizations, in our universities and
churches and business firms, when death has taken from them a leader or loved
colleague, to prepare a minute, setting forth his life and services and their
sorrow in his loss, and to ask that this minute be adopted by a rising vote.
But The Theosophical Society is not an ordinary organization, nor is our loss
an ordinary one. Our feeling is not such as can be framed in words, or shown
by any form or ceremony. It is part of the very life of our hearts and souls,
an integral, living part of the life and soul of the Theosophical Movement.
And because all words and forms would be inadequate and futile, I ask that
all should be omitted; that what we feel for him, that what tells of what he
was and is to us, may remain as the voice of the silence, speaking through our
life and acts in enduring, quickening power, rather than in words that die upon
the air. As in life he led us forward, so now his spirit leads. And his smile
awaits, not our testimonies of sorrow and the past, but the seizing of our present
opportunity; the pressing forward with renewed hope and cheer and courage
to the vastness of the work that lies ahead; to the work that is now, and
forever must be, his and ours together, because it is the Masters'.

It is in this spirit of new courage, of new hope and cheer, that we take up
our great heritage from the past and turn to the high privilege and duty of
the present, which is ours as the world's trustees and as members and delegates
of this Convention.

PERMANENT ORGANIZATION

Dr. Clark moved the nomination of Miss Perkins and Miss Chickering, who
served last year, as Secretary and Assistant Secretary to the Convention; this
motion was duly seconded and carried.

It was moved by Captain C. Russell Auchincloss, duly seconded and carried,
that the Chair appoint the usual three standing Committees. The following Com-
mittees were then appointed :

Committee on Nominations Committee on Resolutions

Mr. J. R B. Mitchell, Chairman Mr. E. T. Hargrove, Chairman

Mr. George Woodbridge Mr. Gardiner H. Miller

Miss F. Friedlein Mr. Arthur L. Grant

Committee on Letters of Greeting
Mr. K. D. Perkins, Chairman
Dr. C. C. Clark
Miss Margaret Hohnstedt

The Chairman next called for the reports of officers, asking Mr. Hargrove
to report for the Executive Committee, in the necessary absence of the Chairman
of that Committee.

REPORT OF THE EXECUTIVE COMMITTEE

MR. HARGROVE : The first thing we have to report is that Dr. Keightley is
present. Mr. Johnston usually reports for the Committee, and often its other

86 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

members first hear in his report, the full details of what has been done by the
Committee during the year, for the very simple reason that the Society more
or less works itself; which means that the spirit of the Society is one. It means
that the mind of the Society has been unanimous. And just as in the case of
the individual, when the individual is unanimous inside of himself instead of
being a house divided against itself, so, in the case of The Theosophical Society,
its existence, in one sense, is uneventful, although full of activity. I suppose
that is only another way of saying that the Executive Committee has nothing
to report. It is a very long time since we have heard from the members in
Germany. I do not know just what will happen when we do hear from them.
That remains to be seen. We shall have to take that fence when we get to it.

You have heard, from the Chairman's reference, what was really the event
of the past year. But without referring to that again, we can think of another
event — so far as this Convention is concerned — and that is the presence in our
midst of Dr. Archibald Keightley. Now, of course, that also can be treated
humorously or otherwise, because he goes back to the beginning of time. He
doesn't look half so ancient as he is (laughter). But there would be another
way of putting it. As a member, he goes back to 1883, and he is one of those
who, for all those years, through good report and ill, so far as the Movement
is concerned, in fair weather or foul, without any wavering at any moment, stood
loyally by the Movement and by the Masters. Now that in itself is a wonderful
record, — an extraordinary record. I do not know of anybody else who goes back
further, or who has stood more loyally. If only for that reason, it would be
an immense pleasure for all of us to welcome him to-day, in our midst, as an
individual member, as one of the old guard, one of the old stand-bys, one who
was the friend of H. P. B., — not merely the follower but the friend.

The trouble is that I could talk for so long about him and what he has
done for the work, that it is difficult to know where to begin or where to stop.
One's mind goes back, of course, in my case, to old days in London, a few
months after the death of H. P. B. The headquarters in those days was full
of people who had known her, had worked with her. It did not take me long
to discover that of all those who had been with her at that time, as one of her
pupils, he was the one who knew her best, and whom she had trusted most.
Assuming for one moment that she had the foresight that we attribute to her,
her judgment would have been correct, because of all her personal pupils, he
was the only one who stood by her spirit as well as her body, and who survives
in the spiritual sense to this day. As Mr. Johnston has written: "Of the group
of students whom Madame Blavatsky began to gather around her in England in
1887 and 1888, only one, Archibald Keightley, is still on the firing line." The
fact of the matter is that I find these things extraordinarily difficult to talk about,
so I think I will just drop it and come down to what you might call the funda-
mentals of my report.

Of course, thinking of the past makes one think of the future. The future
is going to be the outcome of that past, and although I am very, very juvenile
in comparison with such a particular antique as Dr. Keightley, yet my mind
does go back reasonably far, and I do not believe that anyone who has not
been a member for a great many years can really appreciate what the Society
stands for; what it means in the world. As we see one after another removed
by death from our ranks, it necessarily makes some of us feel that our time
may come before so very long, and it necessarily makes us feel a deep anxiety
as to the future of the Movement.

You will say that is foolish, perhaps, — just as if the Movement depended
upon the life of an individual or half a dozen individuals. That is a common-
place even in a business house. There were some people foolish enough, after
the death of the Editor of the QUARTERLY, to ask whether the QUARTERLY would

T. S. ACTIVITIES 87

be continued. Of course! Things don't stop when they are real. And yet it
is only natural that some of us should be anxious that those who are younger
and newer in the work shall take hold, shall take hold so firmly, so deeply,
with their whole being, that this Movement will be carried forward to the end
of this century without a break. What does that mean? There is an old Chinese
saying to the effect that one difference between a sage and an idiot is that the
sage breathes from the soles of his feet. Perhaps it is used figuratively to some
extent, but not altogether. The essence of it for us is this : that what some of
the older members want is to see an increasing group of younger members
who will take hold body and soul, with all that they are and have, without any
reservation whatsoever, anywhere in their make-up. That is what we want, and
that is what we have got to have, and what you have got to give.

After all, race, blood, tell in many ways ; and we must face the fact that it
is the exception and not the rule for any one of our race and blood to be able
to give himself completely to anything. You may not like the idea, but it is
true. And yet there are exceptions, and the history of The Theosophical Society
has proved it. Ceaselessly we are looking for those exceptions, ardently longing
that we may meet with them, that they will turn up, as it were, among the
ranks of our membership. Why is it that we are so desperately anxious to see
the work carried forward? It is for the same reason that Dr. Keightley, for
instance, has stood, and stood, and stood. It is for the simple reason that some
of us have learned, in all simplicity and sincerity, to love the Masters. That is
why. That is the reason we are anxious that others shall acquire that same
attitude and feeling and purpose and resolve, so that nothing will ever shake
them; so that their understanding will keep pace with their will; so that we too,
when our time comes, may die in peace, with the thought that the work, — the
Masters' work, — will be carried on and on. It is not only that the future of
humanity is at stake, — not only that we long to see these great truths passed
on like fire from heart to heart : it is that, in the deeper sense of the word,
the lives of the Masters themselves are at stake. See, just for one moment, what
this Society stands for. . . . Oh, well! I will not attempt that this morning.
It would take too much time. You know much about it, as it is, and all I could
do at best would be to remind you of things familiar. Perhaps better than for
me to attempt it will be to hear about it from others. The message will be the
same. It is only the words that will be different. But I do believe that as one
after another speaks, though speaking about different things, maybe, you will of
necessity recognize the divine purpose back of it all, and the same great longing,
the same determination. Such things speak for themselves.

The Society has weathered many storms. Doubtless it will have to face
other storms in the future. That is all right. Storms do not matter. What
you need are the few who are not going to be shaken by storms; who are going
to keep their course; who recognize their goal; who see, no matter how far off,
the beacon lights of home, and who can be trusted through thick and through
thin, without thought of self, to carry on.

Now I know well that if the Chairman of the Executive Committee were
here to-day, that is something of the message that he too would wish to express.
It is a message. The day is long past, in the history of this Movement, when
messages have to be signed, sealed, and delivered. Your own hearts are the
judges. Your own hearts answer and decide; and although, from one standpoint,
we meet here, year after year, — I think this is the forty-fourth year of the Society
— to confer about the business of the Society, yet in the deeper sense — in the
true sense — the business of the Society is, as it were, the outer covering of the
reality. And that reality is that as many as possible of those who are giving
their hearts to the Cause shall meet together and re-kindle from one another —
from contact with one another — that ancient fire passed down from eternity, and

88 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

thus be better able to pass it on in future to others. That is why we meet.
That is the explanation of all that is acquired at these Conventions. Let us, I
venture to suggest, keep that purpose in mind, and let us go back when the Con-
vention is over, reinforced in understanding and in purpose, with a realization
—perhaps such as we have never had before— that the responsibility of each
member of this organization is immense. Marvellous is the opportunity, — true!
But the responsibility would perhaps be crushing if it were not for the knowledge
that we, after all, are mere pawns on the chess board in comparison with those
great ones who are responsible for the Movement; who started it and will never
let go of it, and whose might and majesty have maintained it through all these
years, in spite of the frenzied efforts of its enemies to destroy it and so prevent
the victory which the White Lodge must gain.

THE CHAIRMAN: We wish just as full a report from the Executive Com-
mittee as possible, and I shall ask Dr. Keightley, if he does not wish to report,
at least to present himself as a portion of that report.

DR. KEIGHTLEY: If one may say so, it is not customary for junior members
of the Executive Committee to add to reports when their seniors have so ably
summed up in condensed form all the events of importance which have taken place
since the last meeting of the Society.

Mr. Hargrove spoke of the forty-fourth year of the Society. The formal
Conventions of the Society appear to date from the time when the Convention
was held in Chicago by the members of the American section. Previous to that
time, there had, I believe, been informal gatherings round the heads of the Society,
Madame Blavatsky and Colonel Olcott, in the places in which they had lived.
But those were fortuitous events, not regular gatherings of the members for
organizing and considering the work of the Society as such. Many of you are
doubtless aware that at the Chicago Convention to which I have referred, Mr.
Judge was appointed General Secretary. It was my privilege then to be the
bearer of a letter of greeting from Madame Blavatsky, to the American members
in Convention assembled. And from that time (1887), without a break, members
of the American groups of Branches have united in the consideration of the
events of life, in their methods of work, and in organization to meet the needs
of that work. The real object of that Convention in 1887 was to place the work
of the Society on a deeper basis than had previously prevailed. The Society was
then in the position of recovering from an attack of psychic measles. The external
phenomena which we find recorded in Mr. Sinnett's book, The Occult World —
the phenomena of spiritualism, of psychism generally — had taken possession of
the minds of many members. If you look back to the old numbers of the
Theosophist, you will find recorded there more than one warning against the
organization of psychic phenomena on a monetary basis. Some people in this
country, who had misunderstood the meaning of Theosophy, had imagined that
clairvoyance and so forth might be used for monetary reward, and that psychic
powers might be put upon a business basis ! Gradually, under what I believe to
be the guiding hand of the Masters of wisdom, and through the efforts of Madame
Blavatsky and Mr. Judge, that phase of what we may call material psychism
was done away with. And then, as Mr. Hargrove pointed out, you come to the
deeper and more serious business of The Theosophical Society, its great purpose, —
to deepen the lives of its members; to give them a deeper consciousness of their
own being.

And so, if I may deal with the history, — in 1887 I had the privilege of bringing
Madame Blavatsky's greetings. I came again in 1888; and again in 1890 to 1891,
travelling back from New Zealand. It was in 1891 that Madame Blavatsky passed
from this scene of life; during the next ten years came the struggle and disruption
created by Mrs. Besant in the attacks against Mr. Judge, and then the loss of
Mr. Judge. When these seniors passed from amongst us and the rest of us were

T. S. ACTIVITIES 89

left with the need to carry on the Movement as best we could, — as Mr. Hargrove
indicated, there were shocks ; there was the sense of loss. We who are now
engaged in the work shall almost certainly find the necessity of arising in all
our strength to meet the shocks which will be provided as a means for the further
growth of the Society. Time and again, I believe that the Masters have sent
word to those who were in the midst of past shocks, to stand firm as a rock,
that the work of the Movement might enlighten the world at large. Members
were asked to remain absolutely firm, — as a fulcrum upon which the Masters can
move the world to its true destiny, and save it from becoming entirely material.
That is our privilege, — one of the things which we are here for. I speak my
own belief. It does not involve any entailment of belief on other people, but
I would like to present it as part of what I am. As Mr. Hargrove, with too kind
insistence on my effort, has said, — I have been privileged to be among those
who headed the Movement, and I can only add, for my own part, that there is
no virtue in me that has held me, but, having been privileged to be where I have
been, through the action of Karma, I could do nothing else than I did.

THE CHAIRMAN : The next business is something which, year after year, we
have looked forward to with the greatest pleasure : the report of our Secretary,
Mrs. Gregg. Unfortunately she is too ill to come over, at least in weather like
this, to make it in person; and consequently it will be made this year by our
Assistant Secretary, Miss Perkins, who does a great deal more, year by year,
day in and day out, than a good many of us realize.

REPORT OF THE SECRETARY T. S. FOR THE YEAR ENDING APRIL 26, 1919

New Members

This has been, outwardly at least, a year of such sudden reversals that your
Secretary did not look for the kind of growth that is represented by forming
of new Branches, and admission of new members. Hard upon the opening of
ottr work for the fall, came the news of the apparent termination of the Great
War, throwing into violent relief the separation that had somehow occurred
between the outer conflict, so strangely concluded, and the inner warfare, in which
no cessation was either possible or attempted. That the time of bewilderment
was, for most of our members and Branches, so short, and the impetus to
renewed and vigorous effort so immediately compelling, is cause for gratitude,
both to the Masters who stand behind our work, and to the leaders by whose
clear insight into spiritual issues the work of the Society has been directed so
wisely. One result of the steadiness, in the midst of universal confusion, that
has characterized the T. S., is reflected in the unexpected accessions that have
come to our membership during the year. Furthermore the number of new mem-
bers reported during the final two months of our year is noticeably large — quite
out of proportion to the accessions of the preceding ten months. This fact,
too, may have significance for those who look behind the outer event to the inner
causes from which it flows. We have added, during the past year, 63 members
to our roll: United States, 31; South America, 8; Norway, 14; England, 9; and
Holland, 1. Plans are also on foot for the formation of several new Branches,
which I trust may be functioning, vigorously, before the next annual Convention.
Our losses during the year were six; by resignation, two; by death, four. Each
of these members is missed by those with whom Karma had associated him, and
in the corner of the great field where he had been placed. There is one of the
number whose loss is mourned by every member and in every Branch. It had been
Mr. Griscom's great privilege to hold a post that brought him close to each one
of us, and the way in which he held it, through the years, unites us in a common
heartache and a common determination to show that we are richer, stronger,
more ardently devoted to the Theosophical Movement, because of his service in it.

90 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

'Correspondence

It is natural that the outer activities of the Secretary should be chiefly
expressed in the correspondence of the office ; and the variety of the inquiries
and requests made is a never failing source of satisfaction. There are certain
Branches which have always made the Secretary a confidant as to their plans
and efforts; and it might surprise them to know the extent to which they have
in this way been helping in the work at Headquarters, where it is our effort to
feel the pulse of the Society, and to do, as may be given to us, whatever we can
to keep it steadily and fully in the current of that mighty force that is manifested
through our work. It is largely with our members-at-large that regular corre-
spondence is maintained; some of them who have never visited Headquarters
are as well known there as those who are near enough to come in frequently —
and to that family group all isolated members are most cordially invited. Many
members regret that some circumstance or other seems to prevent them from
joining or forming a Branch; they naturally desire to be fruitful but they not
uncommonly think of that as requiring some one particular gift. The fact is
that there are many kinds of fruit, all needed in our work, and no one is unable
to make contribution of some sort. Join the Secretary's "Branch for Stay-at-
homes." Nothing will be asked of you that you cannot do, and you may find
the joy that comes only with service to others. This is a large and eclectic
Branch for it also makes room for those friends of the Movement who are with
it in heart, but are for some reason temporarily prevented from becoming mem-
bers, outwardly.

Branch Activities

The Branch activities are as varied as in previous years. As one reads the
reports from Branch Secretaries one cannot fail to note the strong individuality
that marks the work of different Branches; Branch officers may and do change,
but there is evidence of an organism within most Branches that is working out
its course according to the life and the opportunities given it. Many Branches
will be reporting here, and others will doubtless be represented in the Convention
Report, so it is not necessary to do more than to call attention to the evidences
of distinctive Branch life, and to suggest that this would be made doubly clear
by comparison of the reports of this year with those of preceding years, as given
in the successive Convention Reports.

The Theosophical Quarterly

As the organ of the Movement, the QUARTERLY has never more fully and bril-
liantly served its purpose than during this past year. It has with unfailing insight
marked out, in anticipation, the probable progress of world events, — suggesting
ways of making inner effort reinforce or forestall the effects of what seemed
likely to take place in the outer world. It has thrown such clear light on the
unseen conflict and forces that none of us can plead ignorance or lack of oppor-
tunity to engage in the contest that has been waged under the leadership, as some
of us believe, of the Lodge of Masters. At no other time has the understanding
and clear sightedness of the writers for this magazine been so evident to readers
outside our membership, and so genuinely appreciated. Frequently, gratitude
leads someone to write — "I did not know what to think about so-and-so, until
the QUARTERLY came; now I am no longer confused, now I see what it all means."

About the plans for the magazine during the coming year it is not for me
to speak. I should, however, like to suggest that those who are seeking opportunities
to express their love and devotion to Mr. Griscom, who made the QUARTERLY,
will find one appropriate means in the promotion of the circulation of the maga-
zine. There is no desire that its circulation should run into large figures, but

T. S. ACTIVITIES 91

rather that it should reach everyone of those comparatively few people who at
present have an ear open to its message, and hearts ready to respond. To double
our subscription list would be easy — by any one of a dozen methods ; but it is
only by devoted and constant work that our members in different parts of the
world can discover, one by one, the waiting individuals to whom it should go.
Beyond the reach of their acquaintance, always stand the libraries, through which
many personally unknown to them may be reached, if the magazine is placed there.

The Quarterly Book Department

To this organization, independent of the Society in financial responsibility and
management, but also an integral part of our work, acknowledgment should be
made for great service to the Cause. The year has not been marked by new
publications, but there have been important reprints of some of our most valued
books. One significant feature of the book business has been the extent of the
demand for its publications outside our own ranks, — the books chiefly so ordered
being both volumes of Fragments, and the Abridgment of the Secret Doctrine.

For the coming year the Book Department has the promise of the opportunity
to bring out in book form selected portions of Mr. Griscom's contributions to the
literature of the Movement : — his "Elementary Articles," making one book ; articles
on related subjects, in pamphlet form; and a collection of his letters to various
individuals.

A Personal Acknowledgment

Again, I must repeat that, as I review the year, my first thanks go to the
Masters who have been pleased to use my poor service in their great cause ;
next come to mind my fellow officers, whose counsel and constant support is my
unfailing refuge. The Assistant Secretary asks that mention also be made of
those members who have so generously given of their time for the work of this
office that is carried on in New York, under the direction of the Assistant Secre-
tary. In the care of the subscription lists, and addressing of envelopes for
mailing the magazine, four should be specially mentioned, — Mrs. Helle, Mrs. Vaile,
Miss Graves and Miss Hascall. In the filling of book orders, correspondence, etc.,
constant help has been given by Miss Youngs; Miss Chickering; Miss Bell; Miss
Lewis; and Miss Wood. (Parenthetically, I should like to add that letters
relating to the foregoing classes of work might better be addressed to P. O. Box
64, Station O, New York, instead of being sent to the Secretary's office and for-
warded from there.)

What opportunities for service, what tests of our devotion, the coming year
may hold must be unknown to us, but we have the deepest cause for rejoicing in
the unity and common devotion to the Movement with which we stand, shoulder
to shoulder, facing the future, joyously, as we review the wonderful leading of

the Past Respectfully submitted,

ADA GREGG,
Secretary, The Theosophical Society.

THE CHAIRMAN: No one will wonder that your Chairman said that the
presentation of this report was something that we had looked forward to, year
after year, with just the same gladness that we find now in our hearts. I know
that Mr. Perkins has something that he wants to say to us on this subject:

MR. PERKINS : We who have been privileged to come to this Convention year
after year, look to Mrs. Gregg's report as one of the bright spots of the Con-
vention, and we look forward to Mrs. Gregg's standing up and reading that report
to us, because it is a message direct from her heart. We did not see her this

92 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

time, but we know that all through the year, all over the world, that message of
the Secretary is going out. So many of the present members first came into touch
with the Movement, years ago, by writing to Ada Gregg, Secretary T. S. ; her
letters were the first channel to them of the life and meaning of the Theosophical
Movement. It is part of the meaning of the Convention that membership in The
Theosophical Society is a membership of souls, of hearts; and one of the joys
in coming to this Convention is always the steady fire of the heart of Ada Gregg,
poured out for the Movement. I want to suggest that, in accepting this report
with thanks, the Convention send Mrs. Gregg some flowers, and a word of greeting,
in some such simple form as the following, which I think all of us would like
to sign:

"The Convention of 1919 of The Theosophical Society sends its love and cordial
greetings to that dear and faithful friend who has given herself so generously
in its service, and whose devotion to the Theosophical Movement is treasured as
one of its shining jewels."

MR. HARGROVE: It used to be my privilege, in years past, to join with others
in expressing to Mrs. Gregg the gratitude of the Convention. I think that Mr.
Perkins's idea is a splendid one, and I am exceedingly glad it is going to be
done. I know everyone here would wish to sign that recognition. I know that
it has been a deep grief to Mrs. Gregg not to be present, and I do not see
what else we can do than convey to her in this way, some expression of our
own feeling. I know how deeply all of us miss her presence here. As Mr. Per-
kins said, she makes her own, unique contribution. No one else could make it for
her. It is not only one of the happy episodes of the Convention, but one of
the most appealing, — to see that dear lady get up and to recognize the same spirit
burning there as always, in the service of the Society. Personally, I want to
use this opportunity to convey on the part of the older members, the deepest
affection for Mrs. Gregg, the utmost respect for her years of devotion and sacri-
fice, and the prayer that she may be spared for years to come, not only for our
own sakes, but for the sake of the work.

MR. WOODBRIDGE : It is my privilege to speak about Mrs. Gregg on behalf of
the younger and newer members of the Society, who have unbounded admiration
for that gallant little cavalryman who each year has stood up and given us not
only in her written report, but in herself so much that we may carry away. In
the QUARTERLY for April, 1918, in the article entitled "Lodge Dialogues," three
primary requisites of the Society were given: loyalty, humility, and love. I am
sure that to many of the readers of the QUARTERLY there must have come the
picture of our Secretary. In her report she expressed those qualities uncon-
sciously, just as she has expressed them in her life. I take great pleasure in
seconding the motion on behalf of the younger members.

THE CHAIRMAN : I know you will all wish to have a chance to give some
direct expression of your feeling, so I will ask for a rising vote. [Rising vote
was given with enthusiasm.]

MR. HARGROVE: I am not willing to leave this to anybody else. If Mr. Johnston
were here it would be another matter. I want to move a vote of thanks to Miss
Perkins for the enormous amount of work that she has done during the past year.
[Applause.] There are not many perhaps, who realize it as I do (although all
of you evidently know a great deal about it). The fact is, she has done an
almost incredible amount of work, directly and indirectly, — as Assistant Secretary,
as Manager of the Quarterly Book Department, and in a great many other ways.
She has been helped by other ladies at the Community House and in the Society.
I think you ought to know that, — some of those ladies whose names have been
mentioned already and others, too, have devoted every moment of their spare
time to helping Miss Perkins, who, of course, would be the first to say that
without their help she could not. possibly have accomplished what she has accom-

T. S. ACTIVITIES 93

plished. I would like to move, and the motion is already seconded, that this
Society officially pass a vote of thanks to Miss Perkins for the great service
that she has rendered during the past year.

The vote was unanimously carried.

The next business being the report of the Treasurer, Mr. Hargrove was
asked to take the Chair.

PROFESSOR MITCHELL: I feel that the vote of thanks that has just been passed
is a very fitting preface to the Treasurer's report, because the treasurership has
become an honorary office, the labours of the position being almost wholly, if
not entirely, fulfilled by the Assistant Treasurer, who is one of those many helpers
— but to the Treasurer, at least, a very primary and chief helper — to whom we
have just wished to acknowledge our gratitude. Therefore let me begin by
expressing my own indebtedness to the Assistant Treasurer, Miss Youngs.

REPORT OF THE THEOSOPHICAL SOCIETY
April 23, 1918— April 24, 1919
GENERAL FUND AS PER LEDGER
Receipts Disbursements

Dues from members $673.22 Secretary's office $121.75

Subscriptions & donations to the Printing & Mailing THEO-

THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY 738.42 SOPHICAL QUARTERLY (four

General contributions 198.30 numbers) 1,512.45

Expense of Subscription Dept.

1,609.94 of QUARTERLY 30.10

Deficit April 24, 1919 146.45 Miscellaneous (rents, etc.) 65.00

Collections .46

1,756.39

1,729.76
Deficit April 23, 1918 26.63

1,756.39 1,756.39

FINANCIAL STATEMENT
(Including Special Accounts)

General Fund

Receipts 1,609.94 Disbursements 1,756.39

Deficit April 24, 1919 146.45

1,756.39 1,756.39

Special Publication Account
Balance April 23, 1918 312.00 Balance April 24, 1919 312.00

Discretionary Expense Account
Balance April 23, 1918 483.00 Balance April 24, 1919 483.00

795.00
Deficit in General Fund April 24, 1919 146.45

Final Balance, April 24, 1919 648.55

On deposit in Corn Exchange Bank, April 24, 1919 $1,095.38

Outstanding checks uncashed 446.83

Funds of Special Publication and Discretionary Expense Account 648.55 648.55

HENRY BEDINGER MITCHELL, Treasurer.

94 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

We are returning to the familiar days when we are running with a deficit
year after year. How it is done, I never could say. There is, however, some-
thing very cheerful in the condition, if we look back to what has been accom-
plished in this way in the past. If we were to look at our deficit in the ordinary
way, I should be obliged to point out to you that for two years we have been
running at a loss. May I call your attention to another fact that is of interest :
the expense of producing the THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY for the past year has been
greater than ever before, owing to the large increase in the cost of paper, printing
and binding. This increased expense was unavoidable, but it transpires that the
increase in the amount received from the QUARTERLY in subscriptions and dona-
tions exceeds the increase in the cost of producing it. I do not think any other
magazine is brought out with so little expense as the QUARTERLY; all the work
done on it is a labour of love; the Society has only to pay for paper, printing,
and postage. With these explanations, I beg to present the report which I have
already read and to ask your acceptance of it.

It was duly moved and seconded that the report be accepted with the
thanks of the Convention; unanimously carried.

REPORT OF THE COMMITTEE ON NOMINATIONS

[The Chairman, finding that two of the standing committees were prepared
to report before the recess, called at this time for those reports.]

MR. MITCHELL : There are two vacancies on the Executive Committee, and
for them your Committee presents the names of Dr. Keightley and Mr. Perkins.
We also nominate Mrs. Gregg as Secretary ; Miss Perkins as Assistant Secretary ;
Professor Mitchell as Treasurer; Miss Youngs as Assistant Treasurer.

THE CHAIRMAN : Being a report of a Committee, no second is necessary. Is
it your pleasure that the nominations be accepted complete or separately? Moved
by the Reverend Acton Griscom, seconded by Mrs. Coryell, that the nominations
be accepted complete, as they stand. Moved by Dr. Clark and seconded by Cap-
tain Auchincloss that the Secretary be instructed to cast one ballot. The motion
was unanimously carried; and the Secretary declared the ballot cast.

REPORT OF THE COMMITTEE ON LETTERS OF GREETING

MR. PERKINS : The Committee has a number of most excellent letters. I
should like to ask permission to read extracts from them now, and then later,
if there is time, we can go back and read additional extracts. [Such excerpts
from the letters of greeting as space admits of printing will be found following
the end of the Convention Report]

THE CHAIRMAN : I think we should be very grateful to the Committee on
Letters of Greeting for what they have presented to us. It is now time to
adjourn this morning session, but before adjournment there are a number of
announcements to be made : first, as to the luncheon given by the New York
Branch to visiting delegates and members. It is a period of informal discussion,
of getting to know one another better, which I, personally, look upon as one of
the most valuable and most delightful features of the day. I hope everyone
present will accept the invitation from the Branch to go with us to this luncheon.
I would also urge that all visiting members and delegates should make themselves
personally known to the Chairman. Then I want to deliver a message from
Mrs. Gregg. She is very much troubled lest we should feel any hesitancy in using
her, and her office, because she is not able to be here to-day. And she begs of us,
not to think of her as unable to continue her work, but to write to her just as
in the past. [The Chairman also announced the meeting of the New York Branch,
Saturday evening; the Convention lecture, Sunday afternoon, by Mr. E. T.
Hargrove, on "Theosophy" ; and the tea which followed the lecture.]

T. S. ACTIVITIES 95

MR. HARGROVE: When we reassemble here, I would like to suggest that the
first business be to welcome Dr. Keightley, and to hear his report and letter from
England. Other letters have been read this morning from those who were not
able to come here. Colonel Knoff, among others, was very anxious to attend the
Convention, but found it absolutely impossible. We heard his very delightful
letter. We are so fortunate as to have Dr. Keightley with us, and I know we all
want to hear from him.

The Convention then adjourned to reconvene at half after two o'clock.

AFTERNOON SESSION

THE CHAIRMAN : Before we proceed with the afternoon session, the Treasurer
would like to make an announcement : in the interval between the morning and
afternoon sessions, he has received a check which wipes out two thirds of the
deficit, with the simple message, "Towards the deficit and in memory of Mr.
Griscom." Perhaps it is because of such things as this, that the Society has been
able to go on year after year with a deficit and still have funds to do all that is
necessary.*

The first business of the afternoon session is the continuing of greetings to
the Convention. The Chair calls for Dr. Keightley as representative of the work
in England.

DR. KEIGHTLEY : To the members of The Theosophical Society, in Convention
Assembled: As General Secretary of The Theosophical Society in England, I
desire to present the greetings of all the members in that country, and to express,
on their behalf and my own, the hope that the deliberations of the day may be
attended, not merely with all success, but with that union of hearts and minds
which leads to effective work and to the dissemination of theosophical principles.

Although we meet now with the prospect of peace being concluded, we are
still under the terms of the armistice, and it cannot be said, so far as Europe is
concerned, that mankind as a whole is very much nearer to the realization of that
peace which all men ardently desire. We are not set free — no nation on earth is
set free — from that self-seeking which led to the war; from the assertion of the
power of one individual over another. And it would really seem that we have
brought ourselves face to face with a material destruction which, in the majority
of instances, has not taught its lesson to those who live by assertion of self.
One fact seems clear to those who are living in the midst of the conditions created
by the war : it is that the remedy for the disease which we may call military madness
is not to be found in indulgence — in those moral, or rather unmoral qualities which
form the basis of ordinary external life — but that the remedy is to be sought in
devotion to higher principles than those which are the basis of the ordinary life
of mankind. Aside from all the undoubted evils which the war has created and
which have been the result of the war, we members of The Theosophical Society
have the remedy; it is expressed in the words Universal Brotherhood.

But speaking as one of the oldest members of The Theosophical Society,
Universal Brotherhood does not mean a namby-pamby, sentimental kind of
Socialism, but the integrating value, the healing, whole-making remedy for those
qualities which defile the very soul of man; the effort to live by such principles
as would lead man away from the passions and vices which deform and destroy
men's souls ; the effort to understand those forces and qualities which are summed
up as "envy, malice, hatred, and all uncharitableness," which, in our own familiar
lives, we know break up the conditions under which we live. To almost all of us
it is a familiar fact that anger exerts a disruptive force on the nervous system ;
envy creates a sort of mean snatching after something which is not our own ; fear

* Contributions, also in memory of Mr. Griscom, were received later, which completely
wiped out the debit balance, and gave the General Fund (65.00 with which to start the new year.

96 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

has a physical effect on the nervous system, and it is familiar to many of us that
there is a physical sinking at the pit of the stomach as the result of the sensation
of fear. All these things should give us some guidance as to the nature of the
forces which oppose Universal Brotherhood. And so it is that, speaking as an
official of the Society, I would lay before the Convention the world's great need
for a new type of education, which shall no longer develop in mankind those
qualities and those disruptive forces which brought on the war.

One result of the war has been the difficulty of communication. The greetings
from Branches in England will show that it has not been possible to hold many
meetings. The means of communication were not there; the service of trams and
omnibuses was curtailed; members could not get about; there was no light in the
streets; the windows had to be darkened; it was really impossible to hold the
meetings except in the early afternoons, at times when almost all the members
were busy with their ordinary occupations. One result of this has been that the
membership in England has remained exactly the same, although two members
have been removed by death, and the same number have joined. Consequently
it might seem that our national Branch is inert, but I believe that this is not the
case, for those members who have been actively at work before are still at work,
in the immediate circles of those who surround them, with an added sense of
the results of the war and an eager determination to carry on the work which
they have at heart. And in that work, I do not think there is one member in
England who would not desire, through my agency and by my lips, to convey
their deep sense of the debt of gratitude that they owe to their brethren of
America for maintaining and sending to them the THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY; and
they would wish me to add to these brief words of gratitude, their sense of the
loss which you and we have sustained in Mr. Griscom's removal from active
external life.

Supplementing this more formal report, I would like to give you some idea
of the work Madame Blavatsky used to do, as I was privileged to know of it
Her various publications, beginning with Isis Unveiled, written here in New York,
were carried on, when she went to India, in books and in the early numbers of the
Theosophist; carried on until she began to edit her own magazine, Lucifer. Her
work in the intervening years consisted in the publication of The Secret Doctrine;
The Key to Theosophy; The Voice of the Silence — in writing innumerable private
letters to individuals, as Corresponding Secretary of The Theosophical Society;
and in interviews with people who came to call upon her. Only those in her
immediate vicinity could know of the actual amount of labour which Madame
Blavatsky undertook. I do not think I am exaggerating in saying that her day
began well before six o'clock in the morning, and with very brief and irregular
intervals for meals, went on until after eight o'clock at night ; occasionally she
stopped earlier when she had to entertain visitors to the Society, and hold
meetings in her rooms. After this was over, back she would go again to her desk,
and her pen never rested until after midnight. This was her life when I went
to greet her at Ostend; I saw it go on in London for the next five years, and I
have good reason for believing that her life of practical devotion to the interests
of the work she was sent to carry on never ceased. We speak amongst ourselves
of being able to devote our leisure time to the interests of the work. Madame
Blavatsky had no moments at all which you would call "of leisure."

At the beginning of her life in America, before the Society was founded,
came one of the many peculiar incidents in it. She had been ordered to go to a
banking house in Paris and to receive there a considerable sum of money; she
was to take it to New York, and await directions. She got the money and left
in great haste; she had to take the first steamer possible. She had money enough
of her own to get a saloon passage from a port in France to New York, but
finding at the steamer a woman in great distress because of the loss of her ticket,

T. S. ACTIVITIES 97

Madame Blavatsky surrendered her 'saloon ticket and went steerage, so that she
could pay for the other woman's passage. She arrived in New York without the
least idea of where she was to go, with no money at all of her own, and had to
maintain herself by making wax flowers. By and by she received directions to go
to Buffalo; she went, carrying with her the sum of money she had received from
the bankers in Paris. As I heard her narrate the story, she arrived in Buffalo
after dark. Having been told to follow her instinct, she went through the streets
till she came to the place she was to go to. She knocked at the door ; a man came
down ; she ascertained that he was the man to whom the money was to be given,
gave it to him and departed. She found afterward that the man was on the point
of committing suicide ; he was in debt and what he received was due him. That
instances one of those many journeys which Madame Blavatsky took. She used
to say, when referring to them, that she was told to follow her occult nose. She
knew no reluctance and no hesitancy in carrying out the directions given her, no
matter what the distance, nor how arduous the task. I wish I could convey to you
some idea of the difficulties which she met; there were the difficulties created for
her by many who were her familiar friends ; there were the obstacles put in her
way by those who were opposed to her, — critics innumerable, and great hostility.
She had all the work to do. There might be one or two of us who could be
trusted in a small way to carry out certain details, — but in doing them we usually
got in her way. Really she had to do the whole thing; the work and the burden
lay on her shoulders. And it is to her whole-souled devotion to the principles of
Theosophy that we owe, at the present moment, a knowledge of those philosophies,
ideals, and methods which we are accustomed to call Theosophy.

Our debt of gratitude to Madame Blavatsky, and to those who sent her, is
deeper than we know; her devotion to the work involved complete sacrifice of what
makes life sweet to most people. It was not only laying aside self and assuming
unpleasantnesses and difficulties, it included also what I would call vicarious
atonement. I remember Madame Blavatsky's speaking on the point. She would
not call it vicarious atonement, but what she said was to this effect, that the forces
which oppose truth and right in the world are always attacking those who hold up
the standard, and that she, by her immolation for the work, was a kind of lightning
conductor, carrying off the electric storms which smote the Society; so the Society
was enabled to live. ' I know that I am speaking to those who appreciate the real
depth and value of the Theosophical principles, and it seems fitting that they
should learn, quietly and steadily, what depths of sacrifice have been entailed on
the part of those who have held up the standard of the Movement. In the case
of Madame Blavatsky, it involved deliberate sacrifice of all that makes self and
the life of the self worth living. You lay it aside and you pick up a sort of shirt
of nettles which stings and which you endure. One speaks of it as a shirt of
nettles because it is a sort of nettle rash. It is as if you were perpetually being
poisoned. It is as if you had to throw off and slough off all the poison that came
into the Theosophical system. It was as if Madame Blavatsky, in her own person,
had become the body corporate of The Theosophical Society.

REPORT OF THE COMMITTEE ON RESOLUTIONS
MR. HARGROVE: Mr. Chairman and Fellow Members:
There are certain resolutions which we pass from year to year:
I. RESOLVED, That Mr. Johnston as Chairman of the Executive Committee be
authorized to reply to the letters of greeting.

This ought to read, this year, because of Mr. Johnston's absence, Mr. Johnston
or some other officer of the Society. There are a number of these letters that call
for particular acknowledgment, and I am sure that it would be the wish of the
Convention to authorize the officers to deal with these letters as may be possible.
[Passed.]
7

98 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

II. RESOLVED, That this Convention of The Theosophical Society hereby
requests and authorizes visits of the officers of the Society to the Branches.
[Passed.]

III. RESOLVED, That the thanks of the Convention and of the Society be
extended to the New York Branch for the hospitality received. [Passed.]

Now we come to the resolution which we hope you will discuss fully. At the
last three Conventions, resolutions of one kind or another have been passed in
regard to the War. We have been confronted with a rather serious difficulty.
It is evident that this Society cannot and should not be involved, in any way,
in political questions, and it is not easy to express an opinion about current
problems which are not, in one way or another, mixed up with politics. Current
problems, however, problems in which principles are involved, we are interested in,
concerned in, and it is our duty, as members of the Society, to recognize those
principles and to support them, to stand for them. Vital principles were involved
during the War. It has been said that the War externalized, brought out into
visibility, so to speak, the age-long conflict between the forces which make for
righteousness and those that make for evil. Now it so happened that those forces, on
this side and on that, were represented by certain nations. It was almost impossible
to make a political question out of such a struggle. Yet we have seen in recent
weeks, in spite of the fact that it still is a question of principle and always will be,
that the issues of the war have been expressed in terms of politics, and that the
whole field of combat has been lowered. Of course the underlying struggle has
not ceased. That was pointed out this morning. All that has happened — and now
I am speaking as an individual and not as Chairman of the Committee — all that
has happened is that the leading statesmen of the world agreed to compromise
the situation instead of fighting it out to a finish. Perhaps that is not so
comprehensive a statement as the one which I am now going to submit to you :

IV. Whereas at the Convention in 1915 following the outbreak of the War,
The Theosophical Society declared

"(a) That war is not of necessity a violation of Brotherhood, but may on
the contrary become obligatory in obedience to the ideal of Brotherhood; and

"(b) That individual neutrality is wrong if it be believed that a principle
of righteousness is at stake."

And whereas in the conduct of that war when victory was within reach, a
truce was declared by an armistice whose conditions were designed to preclude
the possibility of further aggression of evil, but not designed to crush that evil;

And whereas the armistice has been followed by the growth of anarchy and
Bolshevism, the spread beneath the surface throughout the allied nations of the
very evil that Germany personified,

Be it resolved that compromise with evil is as wrong as is neutrality; and
that Bolshevism is the very opposite of Brotherhood and of all for which The
Theosophical Society stands.

I do not believe that anyone present here to-day needs to be convinced either in
regard to the first or in regard to the second statement contained in that resolution.
Certainly no one here could imagine that Bolshevism has anything to do with
Brotherhood. We have seen before in the history of the world that Brotherhood
is a word that is often used by those who are the reverse of brotherly in their
attitude toward the rest of the world, and who would brazenly declare that their
brotherhood is an exclusive grouping based upon class distinctions, and that their
organization is intended to protect their group against the rest of the world; or
that it is an offensive organization against the aggression of the rest of the world,
or even that it is intended to grasp at something which the organization does not
already possess. In this country there are many organizations, the avowed purpose

T. S. ACTIVITIES 99

of which is to proclaim the superiority of the proletariat as against the bourgoisie.
That is the platform of the Bolshevists, — to tear down, to grasp power from
whoever may hold it, and to take and wield that power for a section as against
the rest of the community.

Brotherhood in the theosophical sense is never exclusive of anyone. It desires
to be inclusive of all. It is not the fault of The Theosophical Society, as you well
know, that it does not include all mankind. Yet, even if we had the power to do so,
we would not drag people in, — we would not force them. In this and in other
ways, the attitude of the Society is the exact opposite of Bolshevism, which sets
up class against class, and insists that merely because a man is devoid of education
or money, he is superior to those who possess education and may happen to own
some money. Such an attitude is of the essence of evil, of envy, malice and all
uncharitableness. It is the same spirit that possessed Germany, grasping for the
goods of others; a spirit that can very easily be used by all that is consciously evil
in the unjverse. If Germany had been beaten, as she ought to have been beaten,
Bolshevism would never have spread as it is spreading to-day. One of the purposes
of this Resolution is to declare that the strength of Bolshevism to-day, in this
country and abroad, is due to the compromise with evil that was accepted in the
case of Germany. For proof of this, all we need is to look at our own experience,
within ourselves; for surely we must have discovered, by this time, that if a man
compromises with the evil in himself, it will spread from one part to other parts
of his nature, and result in the upheaval within himself of other elements which
heretofore he may have been able to keep down and under. That is the invariable
result of compromise. Evil has got to be crushed if we are to extract the virtue
that is in it. For evil is the perversion of something which in its essence is
spiritual. One of the purposes of the Society to-day is to point to human experience,
the experience of each individual, and to show that it is the expression of the
same laws that govern the experience of nations. If anyone would understand
international politics, all he needs to do, in order to grasp the principles at stake,
is to study the international politics going on in his own nature.

There are really three, not two, questions in this resolution, and the third is
the extent to which the Society, as such, ought to commit itself to an opinion.
I confess that this is a difficult problem. We ought to discuss it fully. We are
prohibited by our constitution from taking part in politics. It would be fatal
to violate that rule, not merely because it is in the constitution, but because the
constitution is right.

Someone was saying yesterday that, just as soon as a principle has enough
supporters, we, as a Society, can no longer talk about the principle, because its
supporters have changed it into a policy. An abstract idea, we can discuss and
pass resolutions about. But the instant the idea becomes concrete and popular,
it looks as if the Society were bound to remain silent. For years we have known
about Bolshevism. But because Bolshevism has now become the creed of a great
many individuals, it is represented by a political party, and are we or are we not
justified in discussing it, and so condemning that party? Obviously, there are
two ways of looking at it. I have suggested one. You will see from the Resolution
that your Committee is of the opinion that we can and should discuss it. I, as an
individual, feel that we have got to go on record. So long as we stand for
Brotherhood, we have got to protest against violations of Brotherhood. We are
compelled to protest against what Brotherhood is not. When we see organized
murder, masquerading in the name of Brotherhood, we are compelled, as part of
our tribute to The Theosophical Society, to declare that that thing is hideous and
evil. However, I shall be glad if this may be thoroughly thrashed out. I do not
believe that there is a member here, man or woman, who has not got opinions
about it, and just because I am so anxious, and others will be so anxious to get
at those opinions, I want to re-read the Resolution :

100 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

First, are we, as an organization, justified in declaring our opinion one way
or the other about the armistice and about Bolshevism?

Second, is it the opinion of the organization as such that the armistice in fact
was a compromise with evil?

Third, is it the opinion of this organization as such, that Bolshevism is the
opposite of Brotherhood?

May we not ask for opinions and for discussion?

THE CHAIRMAN: The Convention has before it the report of the Committee
on Resolutions, and has in mind the three questions of principle which the Chairman
of the Committee has laid before you, asking that there should be full, complete,
and frank discussion of those principles, by members here present. Behind the
Chairman's table, there is the seal of the Society, with its motto : There is no
religion higher than truth. There is no need in any Convention of The Theosophical
Society to restate its principles. The truth is there; the way in which we are to
reach it is to go to the common stock, — each of us contributing that fragment of
the truth which is contained in our own minds, — not believing that that fragment
is all, but that it is of importance. And therefore I ask that we should have these
three points as fully discussed as possible. From whom may we hear first?

MR. PERKINS : I should like to say yes, so far as I am concerned, to the three
points in the Resolution. I was particularly interested in what Mr. Hargrove was
saying of the policy of the Society. It would seem that the Society must be
limited, — we should want it to be limited, because we know it and love it; we
should be unwilling to have it made the soap-box from which all comers could
discuss whatever might happen to be in their minds. We should wish it to announce
itself only on great issues. I was asking myself, while Mr. Hargrove was speaking,
what is to determine whether an issue is a great moral issue, for we can hardly
conceive of any question involving an individual, or a group of individuals, which
cannot be traced back to a moral issue. But surely the Society, in the world,
is endeavouring to represent the life of the Lodge. One thing that we might
conceivably ask ourselves, about such a question as this, would be : Is it an issue
which involves the great Lodge of Masters? Would it seem to them, in our
reverent thought, a problem big enough to involve the whole Lodge. That is
a crude way of getting at it, but I think the question instantly throws out a great
many little problems; for the Lodge represents not only our local interests, but
the interests of all sections of the world, and of all human thought. Therefore,
it seems to me that a great moral issue must be one that we would immediately
recognize as of universal significance, one that would command the thought
of the Lodge.

Then what action must The Theosophical Society find itself prevented from
taking if things become political? We would hope that the Society, using its own
experience to look back over the past and forward into the future, would be able
to recognize principles in events, — the principles which are behind them; the
life, the spirit which is in them. Is it not one of the privileges and duties of
the Society to recognize the spirit in events, long before they have built them-
selves into political parties ; and to do its work then, before the time when it
will be opposing organized thought, built into a political party? We ought to
have seen it and done it first. For my own part, I would like, most heartily, to
stand in favour of that Resolution. I am only sorry that it is not possible
to go even further. It is the experience of every one of us that evil compromised
with, leads to blindness, to paralysis, to that corrosive poisoning which it always
produces. So I wish that The Theosophical Society might take a very positive
stand on that resolution.

MR. MILLER: Not long ago, I read, I think in the Key to Theosophy, that
with political parties the Society had nothing to do ; but that against Socialism

T. S. ACTIVITIES 101

its face was set. The reason was the same as that which Mr. Hargrove gave for
our opposition to Bolshevism ; namely, opposition to envy and self-seeking. There-
fore it seems to me that in adopting this Resolution, the Society would be following
a good precedent. I also feel that we can find out something that each one of
us can do about it in a practical way, if we remember that each of us reflects
in his own nature everything in the universe, and therefore Bolshevism; that
each one should do his utmost to stamp it out of his own nature.

DR. CLARK : I have been asking myself what is involved in the Society's
pronouncing on this Resolution. It might clear up difficulties, if we go back into
the past, face a similar situation there, see what we should like the Society to
have done, and then apply our conclusion to the situation to-day. Let us go back
to 1792: In England people were stirred to the depths over the question of pro-
portionate representation in Parliament. Those who favoured it and those who did
not said that a moral principle was at stake. Turning to France, at about the
same time, we find taking place there : the murder of the King and Queen ; the
organized murder of innocent citizens, and the confiscation of their goods;
the exaltation of the indecencies of life. Now what would we have wished to
be the attitude of such a Society as ours upon the questions in England and
France, both of which were taken up by political parties? Certainly a moral
principle was involved in proportionate representation, but let us use Mr. Perkins's
criterion, and ask, did it affect anything outside of England, did it affect the
spiritual world? What was the effect of that action going on in Paris, where
they were making legitimate those things which all civilization had branded as evil?
What action must be taken by a Society devoted to the study of religion,
philosophy, and science? To my mind the conclusion is clear, for I see at work
there a principle of evil, subverting those forms through which the spiritual
world manifests itself, and hence at work against the spiritual world itself. It
seems to me that the Society must take action whenever it finds itself facing
forces — whether under the wing of a political party or not — which are against
the spiritual world and against those leaders whom we believe to be back of
the Theosophical Movement. So now I do not see how our loyalty to them,
our gratitude, could lead us to do anything else than declare ourselves, in the
most emphatic way, against the evil set forth in the Resolution before us.

After speeches by Captain Hohnstedt, Captain Auchincloss, Mr. Barrett, Mr.
Saxe, Mr. Banner, and Mr. Grant, all of whom strongly endorsed the Resolution,
Mr. J. F. B. Mitchell expressed the hope that it would be passed, saying further :

MR. J. F. B. MITCHELL: It seems to me there can be no discussion as to
whether Bolshevism is Brotherhood ; organized murder is not Brotherhood. It
is equally clear that the armistice was a compromise with evil, and compromise
in any form is betrayal of the Masters' Cause. What do we do when we com-
promise? We give to evil a part of what should be the Masters' territory.
It is complete surrender. We heard this morning that the outer war is but a
reflection of the inner war that is raging all the time between the powers of
light and the powers of darkness. That war is being fought now, and this
Society is the representative of the White Lodge in its battle. That means that
we are a fighting organization ; and one of the things that we have to fight for
is Brotherhood. You cannot fight without taking a stand. When the Society
was organized, one of the greatest enemies of Brotherhood was dogmatism ;
and it fought dogmatism. In great measure it won its fight. To-day the chict
enemy of Brotherhood is not dogmatism but the grasping spirit that animated
Germany; and one expression of it is Bolshevism — the desire to impress one't
own will on others. If we see that to-day as the great enemy of Brotherhood,
I feel that we should stultify the whole purpose of the Society, if we did net
openly take our stand against it.

102 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

MR. WOODBRIDGE: I think it is not only a duty, but an opportunity for the
Society to express itself on this vitally important subject. When it is possible
for a great evangelical Church to be so bewildered about principles as to submit
to the dictation of a labour platform; when a Christian Church is prepared to
submit its platform to Jews and to use their formulation as a basis for raising
enormous sums of money, — clearly the time has come when the world needs
an impetus in the right direction, needs a nucleus of correct thinking. It seems
to me that there has never been a time when the Society could so properly
start its avalanche of power as to-day; that we should stand with Krishna on
the principle of resistance to evil; that we should be doing wrong if we refused
to give to the world what it needs most, — an opportunity to think straight.

MRS. SHELDON : I feel that what I say is going to seem to be in opposition
to the previous speakers — I am not so in spirit, but my individual approach to
the matter is somewhat different. I think that if Bolshevism were better under-
stood, people would hesitate before committing themselves to that principle. My
feeling about the armistice is affected by my understanding of the Theosophical
doctrine that corrective and not punitive measures should be followed. I have
felt that the fury of Bolshevism might have come from the fact that hundreds
of thousands of lustful individuals, who have been put out of life through the
Great War, are having their part now in influencing humanity. The lawlessness
and terror, now abroad, may come, in part, from the astral world ; if so, the
signing of the armistice may relieve the situation, as it will at least result
in not throwing out of life additional hordes of irresponsible souls whose action
on the astral plane would react here.

MR. LA Dow: It seems to me that it is perfectly true that Bolshevism will
be destroyed sooner or later by its own inertia, but unless we combat it we shall
go down with it. That seems to me to be the very crux of the situation,—
not that it must be destroyed, but that we must destroy it.

THE REVEREND ACTON GRISCOM: I find it difficult to speak to-day, because
personal feeling is so strong that it acts as a limitation. Last year, I claimed
the privilege of speaking because I was then the youngest member in the room ;
this year I should like to be permitted to voice, if I can, the feeling of the
younger members. Mr. Hargrove spoke this morning of the anxiety of the older
members; he used the words "crushing responsibility," and I am sure those words
meant a great deal to the younger members of the Society. There are those
of us who have not yet grown up to the stature of the manhood of the older
members of the Society. We have not yet been put on trial, but that day of
trial, please God, will come te every one of us.

As for the Resolution, the essence of which is against compromise with evil,
it seems to me that unless the Society, as a Society, can pronounce against
Bolshevism and the principles of Bolshevism, then no member of the Society
can pronounce against the Bolshevism in himself; and we have got to learn,
we younger members, not to compromise with the evil in ourselves. We have
got to give ourselves whole-heartedly to Theosophy, to The Theosophical Society,
to the Masters that stand behind the Theosophical Movement. It would seem
to me to be the duty of the Society to fight evil in any form, wherever seen.
I would also take that to myself, and would say that it is my duty to fight evil
in myself and wherever I see it in the world, to the utmost of my ability. As
one of those younger members who must, in the normal course of events,
assume a greater and greater responsibility, — compromise of any kind becomes
more and more impossible. Voicing the hope and the desire of younger mem-
bers, I would like to address you, Mr. Chairman, and the older members, and
to say that we accept that responsibility. We feel that the Masters hare put a
good desire into our hearts. We are prepared to face the sacrifice which Dr.

T. S. ACTIVITIES 103

Keightley told us those older members underwent, and we hereby offer ourselves, —
not merely for the signing of this Resolution against a given form of evil, but
also for the fight against evil in every possible form, and for service of the
White Lodge in its fight against the Black.

THE CHAIRMAN : The Convention would not have its Chairman pass without
response the statements that have been made by one speaker after another, and
perhaps particularly the statement last made as to the attitude of those upon
whom it must ultimately rest to carry on the work of the Movement. I do not
think that anyone could be here to-day and not know the truth of what Mr.
Griscom has just said, — that there is very ardent desire, very real and earnest
will, and very deep consecration to this Movement in all our hearts, young and
old. That is the foundation. That is the power, and all power comes from
sacrifice, and all sacrifice from devotion. There is another need, and that is the
need which each one of us is trying to meet and to help the others to meet,
right here and now ; — the baffling need of wisdom ; of Theosophy ; of the wisdom
of God, that the light of God, the light that God has given us, may give us clear
vision to guide rightly and effectively the ardent desire to serve which every
one of us knows. That we may see how to act, as well as being willing to act.
To see without being willing to act is damnation. That is the damned soul, it
seems to me. But if I were to try to describe hell as a state, I would say
it is the will to act, without the vision that will enable one to do it. So we
must bring to a focus this very real will upon which the Movement must rest, —
it is hope, it is power for the future, — and try to see what is involved in this
Resolution, and what we ought to do about it. So far we have all been pretty
much pointed one way. Is it the only way? Is it the right way?

MR. KOBB£: I can only say that I stand with the majority as to what we
ought to do about the Resolution, because I feel that any evil whatsoever should
be combated not only individually but collectively.

MR. HARGROVE: I think the comments we have heard have been both inter-
esting and encouraging. I had not expected anything else. I had expected
practically unanimous agreement. But I do think it is of enormous importance
that we should know just what we are doing and why. Good will is not enough.
That is where the trouble comes in. Good will is the foundation, but upon
that foundation has got to be built up understanding, wisdom, discretion, and
the ability to recognize what the Lodge would wish to be done in any given
set of circumstances. In other words, speaking once more for the older members,
our desire is that every member present here this afternoon should be able at a
glance to distinguish the difference between a principle and a policy: not only in
regard to the forces of the outer world, but in questions affecting their own lives.

The Society, in the nature of things, has got opinions about right and wrong,
always. There is no problem of good or of evil in regard to which it must
not take a definite stand. But also it must learn, not merely to distinguish between
good and evil, but also to recognize the shadow that politics casts over principles.
For instance, suppose that we pass this Resolution this afternoon, and suppose
that fire or six years from now some member asks the Convention of that day
to pass a resolution indorsing prohibition. What are you going to do about it?
It may be that you, individually, are total abstainers. It may be that some of
you believe, in a general way, in prohibition. But you also know that there is
a political party in this country working for prohibition. Are you going to pass
such a resolution or not? How are you going to decide? You can imagine
some speaker saying, See what they did in 1919. In view of that, why not pass
my present resolution? It may not be prohibition. It may be anti-vivisection
or some brand new expression of a genuine ideal. The point is that you will
have to distinguish; and that if we pass this Resolution this afternoon, there

104 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

ought to be a clear understanding in the mind of everyone present, just what
he is supporting and why. I doubt if any would seriously question the first part
of the Resolution. But what is the principle behind it? Where ought this Society,
as such, to draw the line? If we are going to face the future with equanimity,
we must feel sure that there will be those in the future who will be jealous
of the Society's freedom. It must not deal with worldly matters. It must deal
with spiritual forces. It must always be prepared to disentangle the spiritual
from the material; and, assuming that some principle, spiritual in itself, has
found favour with mankind, then almost inevitably it will have become entangled
with the other and lower interests of mankind. Then, using the simile of the
Eastern books, you will have to draw the fibre from the mango ; you will have
to distinguish between the real and the unreal; between the temporal and the
eternal ; between the self and the non-self.

Choose your own terms, but realize that those words, instead of expressing
an abstract philosophical idea, represent, in fact, a process which must be con-
tinual in the life of the individual, of the Society, and in the discussions of its
Conventions, — a process which you might almost call a surgical operation in that
it involves the separation of two things which have become, not only contiguous,
but interblended. We shall always find that the principle is interblended with the
policy of the situation.

I want it to be understood that when any problem like this is brought up,
at any time in the future, these questions ought to be raised : Does this imply
that the Society is mixing with temporal affairs, with the unreal world? Can
it be misunderstood by the public in any way? Can it be assumed by an outsider
that we are taking part in politics, whether national or international? We must
consider always the reputation of the work. We must make sure that we our-
selves have so trained ourselves, in daily life, to distinguish between the real and
the unreal, that we are not going to make a mistake, when speaking for the
organization which has become more precious to us than life itself.

Going back for one moment to the armistice and to Bolshevism. What do
we know about Bolshevism, first hand? A friend of mine, during the War,
when he was having any sort of struggle with himself, used to refer to what-
ever he recognized as evil within himself as his Germans ; the Germans that he
was entertaining within himself. We can change the term and speak of them
as Bolshevists. They are within us, not outside of us. Where is the astral
world? Within us, not outside of us. Killing Germans does not add to the
impulses from the astral world. Live Germans contribute just as much to the
Bolshevist contagion. The astral world is not a place. It is a state, a condition.
Now anybody who knows anything about his own nature, must realize that the
armistice is responsible for the spread of Bolshevism, because evil was not
scotched, and therefore has been spread throughout the world. The world is
behaving as if it had just come out from ether. It is chattering in an ape-like
way. It is on a psychic drunk. And yet, though the evil is psychic, we must
remember that the psychic world is not a there world but a here world; not an
outside world, but an inside world; and that you may at this very moment
contribute to the force of Bolshevism, if you are capable of permitting that same
force to operate within you, and if, identifying yourself with that force, you
co-operate with it. Germany gave herself over to evil, body and soul ; but when
she did that, she did not give herself over to some other world, but to this world.
In other words, the armistice, while responsible in large measure for the Bol-
shevism of to-day, was also responsible for the loss of an opportunity immense
in and of itself, — the loss of a supreme opportunity to kill an expression of evil
which had projected itself from the unseen world into the seen world.

Now I heard it stated recently, and very vigorously stated, that The Theo-
sophical Society was responsible for the War. And in a certain sense, a very

T. S. ACTIVITIES 105

profound sense, that is true. It is because of the work of The Theosophical
Society that evil was brought into visibility. Evil had been in hiding. Mankind
had become blind to its existence. And just as the Christian Master said, "If I
had not come and spoken unto them, they had not had sin," — so, because of
The Theosophical Society, and of its being carried over in response to H. P. B.'s
dying request to "keep the link unbroken," the War became possible. Unseen
evil is infinitely worse than recognized evil. What The Theosophical Society did, —
not, of course, directly, but in effect, — was to grasp that unseen evil and to drag
it from the unseen into the seen. The War, instead of being an evil, was a
blessing. It ought to have been an infinitely greater blessing. A process might
have been finished which now will have to be continued, and repeated, and finished.
And so it is that The Theosophical Society, in that sense responsible for the War,
was, as a Society, deeply disappointed by the armistice. An opportunity had
been thrown away.

The point, however, is this : Similar questions are bound to arise in the future.
Is this Society, or is it not, going to be so blind as to commit itself to some
political issue? Is it going to sink to the level of some of those organizations
who send delegates to Albany to canvas for this, that, or some other act of
legislation? That, indeed, would be a calamity. And the only way to avoid it
is to recognize, now and always, that while we must, of necessity, express our-
selves in regard to the fundamental principles of life, we must avoid any appear-
ance, even, of playing politics, or of being involved in the little issues between
men or parties, — because we stand to speak for the Lodge; and the Lodge speaks
for eternity. That is why, as the Chairman said, it is of supreme importance
that there should be more than good will, more than whole-hearted desire to help.
That desire has got to be given expression, day after day, in little things, if
experience is to be acquired which will enable the members of the future to dis-
tinguish between points such as we have been discussing here this afternoon.

THE CHAIRMAN: If there were time, I wish we might discuss the matter
further, but we all want to hear from our delegates ; we will let them decide
whether they shall report for their Branches or shall add to the discussion of
the Resolution now before us.

Miss HOHNSTEDT: I feel that I can honestly speak for those members of the
Cincinnati Branch who have had the privilege of keeping up the work this winter.
They would be in favour of passing the Resolution. Many members have been
out of town on account of illness. We have, all winter, stood for these three
points of the Resolution. When the armistice was signed, we all felt that it was
too soon ; that the work had not been finished. Bolshevism has become rampant
in the Middle West, and we have a little of it to fight in every meeting. While
we have followed our syllabus, these three points have always come up.

MRS. GITT: Bolshevism has broken out in Washington (laughter). I could
tell you much about it. There are secret organizations that are trying to get,
first the children in the schools, then their parents. I think that much more is
going on than has yet come to the surface. The city is as though a cyclone
had struck it; every man is for himself; it is for you to get out of the way.
To be sure, our Churches have grown in numbers, but I fear not in understanding
and spiritual power. As to the passing of this Resolution, I should say by all
means pass it. It looks to me as if we must not dodge our responsibility by
thinking too much of the future ; let us act to-day, and let the Society take care
of itself in the future. I should like to see the Society go on record for the
right, regardless of consequences. I think Bolshevism is the spirit of the Ger-
mans under a new phase. We failed to deal with it in the old phase, as we
ought to have done. If we had finished the War, it is true that a few thousand
more soldiers would have been killed, but the number would have been fewer

106 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

than those who must be sacrificed when the contest is waged again. What we
ought to have done was to go into Germany and kill the body to sare the soul.
Remarks favouring the Resolution were made by Miss Friedlein, representing
the Seattle Branch; Mrs. Regan, President of the Hope Branch, Providence; and
Mrs. Gordon, representing the Middletown Branch. The Chairman asked
whether there were not others present who would speak, and when there was
no response said :

THE CHAIRMAN: As we appear to have heard from all who are willing to
speak, I may perhaps be permitted to add something of my own view upon the
questions before us. I feel so strongly the importance of what Mr. Hargrove has
said in connection with this Resolution, that I almost hesitate to put it to the
vote without asking again that you be sure to keep in mind the distinction he has
drawn; that you strive to see how deep it goes; and how vital it must be for
the future success of the Movement that it should be understood. Surely we
must perceive the truth of what the Bhagavod Gita states so well, "Better is one's
own duty even without excellence than the duty of another well carried oat;
. „ . the duty of another is full of danger." For any civilization can be strong
only if each element in it is true to its own truth, its own function. Whatever
element departs from its own appointed place and strives to take up the work
of another element only hampers and injures the whole. This should be clear
to us, as we have seen the representatives of religion, who should speak for
religious truth, take up other very excellent work, — the establishing of soup
kitchens, or of gymnasiums for young men, or of bureaus of amateur advice for
representatives in Albany. Important work, perhaps, but in it the Church loses
its own perspective of the vital truth of which it should be the exponent. We
see the same lack of vision of their own truth in our universities. They fail to
recognize that they of all people should be the custodians of the past, — the inter-
preters of the experience of the past, of the long, slow, laborious gains of man-
kind. It is necessary, perhaps, that there should be, in any community, radical,
progressive, turbulent elements making for change; but if they are left unchecked
they make for ruin and not for good. And above all, if the Churches and the
universities leave their own truths to adopt the cry of progress, meaning by it
anything that represents change, — the community is in danger. It is equally
patent that if our Society steps down or out of its own place, to take up any
other duty, however excellent, and grows, either now or in the future, confused
as to what its own function actually is, then destruction awaits us.

Is there not a very real danger — perhaps not before us to-day, but never-
theless a real danger — that we should come to believe that the thing which we
personally think ought to be done is a matter on which the Society ought to pro-
nounce? I think there is. There is also a danger, which might be more serious
— that we should have our minds so full of the possibility of betraying our trust
that we should cease to act at all, and simply dry up from inanition, and rust
out, because we come to feel that principles have no practical application and
are of no vital importance. If the Society is to live and grow, it is essential
that it should recognize principles and enforce them. It is essential that it
should not descend into the arena and fight there. It must disentangle a principle
from that which has been placed around it, and, because ignorant politicians
thinking only in terms of expediency, seize upon this or that great enunciation of
truth, and twist and turn it to their own ends as a political rallying cry, it
does not mean that the Society must drop that principle, but it becomes the
more imcumbent upon the Society to re-affirm its truth and to defend it against
prostitution.

I come back to this point, and would emphasize it for you, because it is ray
earnest hope that the principles involved in this discussion may accompany our

T. S. ACTIVITIES 107

vote upon it, may become as much a part of the precedents for the work for the
future as any action we may take. I should like to refer to the speech made by
Mr. Perkins, because it contains an idea that will help us to see our course.
We know that life flows from within out; that everything lives in the unmani-
fested world before it lives in the manifested. Things do not just happen in
the manifested world, they show forth something pre-existing in the unmanifested
world. It is with that world of the unmanifested, with causes rather than with
results, that the Society is primarily concerned. That is the world of dynamic
power; and he was right in saying that it is for us to lay hold on the principles
that operate there, not after they have been claimed by political parties, but
before. And therefore I venture to remind you, and to place again upon record,
the fact that the opposition of The Theosophical Society to Bolshevism is not a
new one, but has been announced year after year, — for eleven years, to my
personal knowledge. We are not, therefore, entering the political arena, but are
re-affirming what has been our principle, and are re-affirming it at a time when
the world needs it to be re-affirmed, recognizing that the world has come to the
point where the Theosophical Society was eleven years ago, and now needs to hear
what we have been saying ever since. We therefore announce a principle. We do
not descend into the political arena, nor do we seek to make our combat there.
We maintain our fight in the world of principles, in the worlds that are infinitely
more potent than the world of manifestation; we move toward the centre, and,
by so doing, can hold within our finite grasp forces which radiate far beyond
our reach or even vision.

MR. HARGROVE: There is one thing I should like to add, because I would not
like it supposed that the movers of the Resolution have any doubt or hesitation
as to the advisability of passing it. The older members have spoken of caution,
and foresight, and so forth. But I venture to remind you that it was I who
introduced this Resolution, and I would not have done it if I had not wanted
to sec it passed! You have only to look back over the history of the past—
the history of The Theosophical Society itself— to see that, time after time, the
majority has been wrong, and that it has only been the small minority of mem-
bers who stood out for real Theosophy, while the rest of them went off into
space, pursuing some will-o'-the-wisp. That ought to be warning enough. It
does not mean that we should hesitate, but it does mean we should think. It
means something when this Convention passes a resolution. It means infinitely
more than appears on the surface. It is a sword. And that sword, like every
spiritual sword, is not single edged. It cuts both ways. While we can and I
believe should pass this Resolution to-day, with everything that we have to give,
yet the day may come in the future, when something apparently similar may be
suggested which it will be your duty to turn down, with all the energy which
you put to-day into affirmative action. Inevitably members will be tested : will
they be able to distinguish between an expression of principle such as this
Resolution is, and an expression of politics such as some other resolution may be?

MR. MITCHELL: I should like to ask when and to what extent the Society is
justified in pronouncing on questions of fact. Now I do not think I will be
accused of doubting that Germany was the representative of the Black Lodge.
At one Convention, within the last two or three years, a resolution was passed
that made that fact clear. The War was to be prosecuted to a victorious con-
clusion, and so on. I was delighted to vote for that resolution, and I would like
to have made it stronger. But it does seem to be stepping down from the plane
of principles to the realm of fact. What are the principles involved? When can
we do that and when can we not?

MR. HARGROVE: Has Mr. Mitchell in mind the resolution that was passed in

108 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

1918, beginning: "Whereas, In April, 1917, the following resolution was adopted,
to wit:

"Whereas, The United States of America, by act of the President and of
Congress, has finally declared that neutrality is no longer possible in a conflict
that involves the deepest principles of righteousness, . . . Therefore, Be it
resolved . . . that we do hereby pledge our utmost loyalty and endeavour to
the cause upon which the country has entered, until through the energy of sacrifice
the war be brought to a victorious conclusion in accordance with the terms of the
President's message" ?

Of course, when it comes to any statement of fact put forward by this
organization, I think it must be evident that the utmost caution should be
observed. I do not like to use the word caution, because it is misused so widely.
But everyone with any experience knows how few facts are ascertainable. There
are no facts in the physical world at all, because they are always moving,
changing. It is only a principle which does not change. Do you not remember
that dreadful time when Germany was doing a and b and c and d in Belgium,
and friends of ours in Washington said : because we do not know whether Ger-
many has done a and b and c and d, therefore we must wait till the War ends and
see whether Germany did them, and meanwhile must remain neutral?

Surely we, as a Theosophical Society, will never have to bother much about
facts in that sense; will never have to make statements in that sense; should
never be confronted with that particular difficulty, and never will be if we have
understood the point of the discussion this afternoon, — if it has been made clear
to one and all what the distinction is between an eternal principle on the one
hand, and an expression of some point of expediency, some point of policy or
of fact on the other hand.

THE CHAIRMAN : The Resolution as offered by the Committee is now before
you for adoption or rejection. What is your pleasure? [The Resolution was
heartily adopted.]

MR. WOODBRIDGE: It is customary to pass a vote of thanks to the Chairman,
Secretary, and Assistant Secretary, and I would move such a vote.

THE CHAIRMAN : Perhaps you will permit me to say, before putting this
motion, how grateful the New York Branch is that it is able to be the host at
the Convention, and how high a privilege we all feel it to be that the Convention
meets here in its home. I also want to express the thanks which I feel for
having been your Chairman.

The motion was then unanimously carried, and, on motion duly made and
seconded, the Convention adjourned.

ISABEL E. PERKINS, Secretary of Convention.

JULIA CHICKERING, Assistant Secretary of Convention.

LETTERS OF GREETING

Among the many helpful and encouraging letters of greeting received from
Branches of the Society, our space permits the publication of only the following:

To The . Theosophical Society in Convention Assembled: Dear Friends, —

The events of the last years have caused much sadness in the world because

of the great war, — the terrible trial which the present generation has brought upon

itself. But the war has come to an end, they say, and we should rejoice, because

now there will be peace on earth.

No, friends, the war has not ended yet, and no one can tell when it will end.

True, there is, on the material battle-field, a pause which they call an armistice,

T. S. ACTIVITIES 109

a premature one it seems; but the bloody fray is still going on, irregularly, in
many ways and in many places. The pause may lead to a final agreement between
the nations to stop the bloodshed, and if the terms of peace be those of "God's
Peace," then all is well in so far as no better result could be obtained under the
present conditions in the world. But does even such a peace mean more than
laying down arms on the physical plane? Is mankind ready or willing to make
peace in the inner world? The conditions in the outer world answer this question.
The present generation is far from that moral and spiritual state that makes it
possible for the Master to say: "My peace I give unto you." Alas, there are
not many to whom the Lord can even say, "Peace be with you," because, instead
of peace, instead of a short armistice only, there are rebellion and anarchy in the
mind and heart of man. There the war is raging with a frenzy hardly ever known
before in the history of mankind.

With this in view some might exclaim : "Are we still to consider life as a
song?" Yes, we are. ^Life is a song from one Eternity to another, — only its
harmonies are too elevated and divine to be heard or apprehended except by
those having developed the inner organs of perception to some extent. We must
try to develop the inner organs in order to make it possible for us to listen to,
and to understand the music of the spheres. This is the only means to gain
happiness and peace in spite of the seeming discord of some of the strings that
to us, as we now are, seem to be utterly out of tune.

For this purpose we shall have to tune our own string or, as said in the
Voice of the Silence, "Attune thy being to Humanity's great pain." This is a
most necessary thing, a first duty, and till we have fulfilled that duty there is no
possibility . of living a real life, or of hearing the divine harmonies and seeing
the beauty of the creation. "If we could see the entire plan of the universe as
God must see it, we should be able to understand" [Cave]. Yet we have not the
power to see, but we have the power to go to the Master, asking Him to heal
our blindness, and He has never failed in granting a real prayer.

The very first thing to be done is to have confidence in God, to have uncon-
ditional faith in His wisdom, justice, and love, and to believe unfalteringly that
He is the Supreme Ruler of all, and that nothing can happen in this world, nor
in the whole universe, nor in heaven, which is an accident that occurs against
His Will and in spite of His Laws. To help some of our fellow-men to attain
to this faith in God would be the greatest help we could give them in this present
age, in which there is no such faith even among those that make it a daily
confession. They are all too prone to doubts and despondencies, and even to
upbraid Providence, if things happen that jar against their personal hopes and
wishes. If we only could teach them to be thankful for their trials, seeing in
them all the infinite love of our Master, who — as Cave says — "loves us enough
to be willing to take this trouble to train us." And Cave adds : "What an immen-
sity of love that represents !" If we can help some of our fellow-sufferers to such
a faith, the effect it will have on the troubled mind, and the blessing it will bring
to the sufferer, and to ourselves too, we can hardly realize. We have then helped
a little to relieve pain in the world, and have brought a brother nearer to God, —
yes nearer to God ! That means much. He is brought to throw himself into
the arms of the Master with confidence and love. Then he will experience the
"peace of the child at his mother's breast."

Perhaps these thoughts — or rather these extracts from Fragments — may prove
helpful suggestions to some for their future work in the inner and outer world;
they have been of great help to me.

With cordial greetings from your fellow-members in Norway,

T. H. KNOFF
President, Karma Branch, Kristiania, Norway

110

To The Theosophical Society in Convention Assembled:

The Venezuela Branch, as a constituent part of the T. S. will be present
in spirit and truth at the Convention, forming a single consciousness in its unity
or brotherhood, and expresses its hopes for the largest success of the theosophical
work the world over. . . . During the year 1918, our chief work consisted in
maintaining an active theosophical correspondence with the members who reside
in the interior and abroad. . . . With all centres of the theosophical spirit, we
keep always lighted the torch of harmony and activity in an identical purpose.

JUAN J. BENZO
Secretary, Venezuela Branch

To The Theosophical Society in Convention Assembled:

We send all of you our cordial greetings and our best wishes. These greetings
are as sincere, as warm as ever, even if we at present cannot agree with some
of the opinions expressed at the last Conventions. Perhaps we do not under-
stand you in this, but what we do understand is the sorrow we share with you
that the Movement has lost one of its most active, most noble workers, and all
of us feel so gratefully indebted to him.

HjALMAR JULIN

For the Branch in Arvika, Sweden

To the Members of The Theosophical Society in Convention Assembled:

It is my privilege to send to you, in the great day of your gathering, the
cordial greeting and hearty adhesion of the Branch at Altagracia de Orituco.
We take this opportunity to record reverently a thought of gratitude and love
to our dear instructor and fellow-member, Mr. Clement Acton Griscom, whose
death was announced to us by the QUARTERLY. . . . We, who have, though in
the least degree, tried to learn and live the message of Masters which came to us
through Mr. Griscom, dedicate on this day our thoughts to him, as humble
homage to his memory. . . . United with you in spirit and ideal, we desire
that the outcome of your spiritual labours may meet the needs of the world.

A. VALKDON
Altagracia de Orituco Branch, Venezuela

To the Members of The Theosophical Society in Convention Assembled:

There are very few events to report in the life of the Jehoshua Branch during
the last year, but a spirit of devotion is manifest among many of us. We hope
that we may be true to the principles of Theosophy as we go forward to do our
duty with the strength that is in us. The appearance of our review Jthoshua has
been cordially accepted by the public. The translation of the report of our grand
Convention of 1918 was published in our review. It threw light over many points
that had been subjects of terrible discussions and diverse comment, tven among
the very members of the Society, i. e., religious questions, socialism, etc.

We must remember with gratitude many letters we have received from our
dear brother, Mr. J. J. Benzo, full of splendid advice helping our newly born
Branch. We sincerely regret the disincarnation of our most beloved brother,
Mr. C. A. Griscom, to whom the T. S. owes so much. May the Lord's blessing
descend upon him!

D. SALAS BAIZ
President Jehoshua Branch, San Fernando, Venezuela

T. S. ACTIVITIES 111

T» The Theosophical Society in Convention Assembled:

The members of Pacific Branch, Theosophical Society, send kindly greetings
and pledge of loyalty to the officers and members assembled at this annual Con-
vention, in this critical stage of the spiritual supremacy in the world's affairs.

It is with sadness that you will note the absence of that lovable warrior and
leader who has been with you for so many years in these gatherings, but our
bereavement at his loss, rather than being an element of weakness, is more a
source of strength, in a firmer determination to press forward, with the Warrior
Song in our hearts and voices, to a complete victory for the Cause of the Masters.

Every spiritual sacrifice is for a beneficent purpose, and while your hearts
may be burdened with sorrow at this particular Convention, in missing the kindly
guiding voice of Clement Acton Griscom, we are sure that you realize his unseen
presence among you, and that you will find his guiding motives in the work that
was so dear to his heart.

ALFRED L. LEONARD
Secretary, Pacific Branch, Los Angeles

CORRESPONDENCE
To the Editorial Board of the THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY:

I regret that in the January "Notes and Comments" I should have made a
statement in regard to The Idyll of the White Lotus which has no foundation
in fact. My statement should have been made in regard to The Blossom and
the Fruit, the last chapter of which did have to be rewritten by Madame H. P.
Blavatsky. With the exception of the title of the book, the rest of my state-
ment must stand as I wrote it. But I apologize most sincerely for the momentary
confusion in my own mind, as between these two books, and for having misled
the readers of the QUARTERLY to that extent, since the January issue appeared.

AUTHOR OF "NOTES AND COMMENTS."

THE C. A. GRISCOM MEMORIAL FUND
BOOKS FOR STUDY CLASSES

A fund, to be known as THE C. A. GRISCOM MEMORIAL FUND, is being estab-
lished and placed at the disposal of the Quarterly Book Department for the
supplying of standard Theosophical books to such Study Classes as may desire
to avail themselves of it.

The Secretary of the Study Class should inform the Quarterly Book Depart-
ment of the number of meetings held each menth, of the book to be studied
and the number of copies desired, and will then be notified of the terms and
conditions on which they may be obtained through this fund.

Subscriptions to the amount of one hundred dollars have already been
received. Further contributions may be sent to Miss I. E. Perkins, P. O. Box
64, Station O, New York City, and should be marked "For the C. A. Griscom
Memorial Fund."

HENRY BEDINGER MITCHELL
Treasurer of The Theosophical Society

NOTICE

Members of the T. S. are reminded that mail intended for the several depart-
ments can be most readily and promptly handled if addressed as follows :

Secretary T. S.— Mrs. Ada Gregg, 159 Warren Street, Brooklyn, N. Y.
Treasurer T. S.— Professor H. B. Mitchell, P. O. Box 64, Station O, New York.

Subscription Department — THE THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY, P. O. Box 64, Sta-
tion O, New York.

To which should be sent all names and remittances for the QUARTERLY, all cor-
rections of addresses for members or subscribers, all notices of non-receipt of magazine.

Quarterly Book Department — P. O. Box 64, Station O, New York.

To this address should be sent all orders for books, all inquiries about books, all
money in payment for books.

Members are requested to send changes of address to the Secretary T. S., to
the Treasurer T. S., and to THE THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY. Otherwise they throw
upon one of these busy officials the necessity of writing a letter to notify the others
of the change.

112

OCTOBER, 1919

The Theosophical Society, as such, is not responsible for any opinion
or declaration in this magazine, by whomsoever expressed, unless con-
tained in an official document.

THE GUATEMALAN SECRET DOCTRINE

AMONG students of occultism, there have been persistent traditions
of a branch or branches of the Great Lodge in the New World ;
Peru, the mountains of Guiana, the Mexican Sierras, have been
mentioned as possible sites; and it has more than once been
suggested that high Masters of the American Lodge have interposed in
events connected with the Theosophical Movement.

The purpose of the NOTES AND COMMENTS is, not so much to
express an opinion on the existence of branches of the Great Lodge in
one or all of these regions to-day, but rather to put in evidence certain
remarkable occult records, hitherto little known, though long accessible,
which prove to demonstration that, within times comparatively recent,
there were schools of occultism indigenous to the American continent,
and possessing a part at least of the Secret Doctrine, as made known
to us through the Stanzas of Dzyan.

The parts of the Secret Doctrine are contained in a Scripture in the
Quiche language, a tongue still spoken over hundreds of square miles
in southern Mexico and Guatemala; a language obviously of Atlantean
origin. This last fact is proven by its richness in consonants, which
increased in number and variety with the advancing sub-races of the
Fourth Race. In a former issue of THE THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY,
under the title "A Lesson in Lemurian," the predominant character of
the Third Race Lemurian tongues — their richness in vowels and the
meagreness and simplicity of their consonantal framework — were dwelt
on at some length. Readers who recall that study, or who may wish to
look it up, will be interested to compare what is there said of Lemurian
speech with the following undoubtedly Atlantean sentences from the
Guatemalan Secret Doctrine:

Sha ca chamauic, ca tzininic chi gekum, chi agab. Shantuquel ri
tzakol, bitol, tepeu, gucumatz, e alom, e qaholom go pa ha zaktetoh.

8

113

114 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

The translation being:

"Nought was, but motionlessness and silence, in the darkness, in the
night. Alone, the Creator, the Moulder, the Dominator, the Plumed
Serpent, Those who engender, Those who give life, brood over the deep,
like a growing light."

The likeness to the Stanzas of Dzyan is striking, even in these few
lines. It comes out even more clearly, when the whole passage from
which they are taken is read :

"This is the narration of how all was in suspense, all was calm and
silent; all was motionless, all was at rest, and the immensity of the
heavens was void.

"The face of the world was not yet manifest; only the quiet deep
existed, and all the expanse of the heavens.

"Nought yet existed that was embodied, nor anything that adhered
to anything; nought that soared or rustled, or made a sound throughout
the heavens.

"There was nought that stood upright ; there was only the quiet and
illimitable deep ; for nought existed yet.

"Nought was, but motionlessness and silence, in the darkness, in the
night. Alone, the Creator, the Moulder, the Dominator, the Plumed
Serpent, Those who engender, Those who give life, brood over the deep,
like a growing light.

"They are clothed in green and azure, therefore they are called the
Plumed Serpent; theirs is the being of the greatest sages. Thus the
Heavens exist; thus also the Heart of the Heavens; such is the name
of the Divinity; thus is He named."

The history of the book, from which these opening sentences are
taken, has long been public property. It was "discovered" by the
Dominican friar, Father Francisco Ximenez, about the year 1675, in
southern Mexico, at the Quiche town of Santo Tomas Chichicas-tenango,
"nine miles south of Santa Cruz del Quiche, and sixty-six miles north
of Guatemala." The good Dominican can hardly be suspected of having
invented it. With hot indignation, he described its cosmogony as a
"devil's travesty of the Holy Scriptures." But, having denounced it, he
preserved the text, and compiled a voluminous dictionary of the Quiche
language — a language still widely spoken to-day. Armed with this
dictionary, a work as remarkable as the great Aztec-Spanish dictionary
of Molinos, printed in Mexico City before 1575, the Abbe Brasseur de
Bourbourg printed the Quiche text, with a French translation, and
published it at Paris, in 1861. There are several copies in American
libraries. From one of those, the present extracts are made.

The Aztec tongue is still spoken in its purity in many native towns
within a few miles of Mexico City, by tens of thousands of descendants
of the race that ruled, and tyrannously ruled, central Mexico and the

NOTES AND COMMENTS 115

immensely fertile plateau of Anahuac, for several centuries before the
coming of Hernando Cortes, just four hundred years ago. Las Casas,
the great missionary and protector of the natives of Mexico, who
followed close in the footsteps of Cortes, speaks of picture-writing and
phonetic symbols in use among the Aztecs, and similar writing was found
among the Mayas and Quiches, in southern Mexico, Yucatan and
Guatemala. It is a matter of history that the Latin alphabet was taught
to Mexican natives of the upper classes, which included the priesthood,
as early as 1522, within three years of the landing of Cortes, who
reached the Mexican coast on Good Friday, 1519, and named the place
of his landing "the City of the Holy Cross," or Vera Cruz. It is, there-
fore, easy enough to understand how one of the Quiche priesthood, in
possession of a picture-written scroll of the Guatemalan Secret Doctrine,
was able to transcribe it in Spanish characters, putting it in the form in
which, a few years later, it was "discovered" and denounced by Father
Ximenez at Chichicas-tenango.

With these explanations, the extracts from the opening Stanza of
the Guatemalan Secret Doctrine may be continued :

"Thus did His Word come, with the Dominator and the Plumed
Serpent, in the darkness and in the night. Thus the Word spoke with
the Dominator, the Plumed Serpent.

"They spoke together and took counsel and meditated; they under-
stood each other; they joined their words and counsel.

"As they took counsel, the day began to break ; at the moment of
dawn, Man was manifested, while they held counsel on the forthcoming
and the growth of forests and plants, on the nature of animal and
human life, formed in the darkness and in the night, by Him who is
the Heart of the Heavens, whose name is the Great Breath."

Students of the Secret Doctrine will easily recognize in the sentences
the teaching of the Logos, which Philo of Alexandria, an Initiate of the
Egyptian Lodge, so finely calls "the Mind of God," with the formation
in the Logos, in "the thoughts of God," of the outlined plan for the
early Rounds, in which Life was to be manifested, in mineral, vegetable,
animal, and human form.

The Atlantean mystery-name, which is here rendered "the Great
Breath," has, curiously enough, found its way into many modern
European tongues. In the Quiche text, it is "Hurakan," the "Storm-
wind," from which come the English "hurricane" and the French
"ouragan." The Logos, therefore, in the Quiche text, is Hurakan :
"the Wind that bloweth whither it listeth." The triune nature of the
Logos is set forth in the next sentences of the Stanza:

"The Lightning is the first sign of the Great Breath ; the Furrow of
the Lightning is the second sign; the Thunder is the third sign. And
these three are the Heart of the Heavens.

116 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

"They came with the Dominator, the Plumed Serpent; They took
counsel concerning intelligent life : how the seeds should be formed, how
the light should come, who should be the sustainers, the support of the
divinities."

Then the beginning of manifestation is recorded, with its splendid
spiritual motive: that the heavens might declare the glory of God, that
the firmament might show His handiwork:

" ' Thus shall it be done ! Be ye filled ! Let the waters withdraw
and cease to be a hindrance, so that the world may come into being, that
it may become firm and manifest its surface; that it may receive seed,
and that the light may shine in the heavens and on the earth. For We
shall receive neither glory nor honour from all that We have created
and formed, until Man exists, the being endowed with intelligence.'

"Thus They spoke, while the world was being formed by Them.
Thus did the birth of things take place, thus did the world come into
being. 'World!' They said, and immediately the world took form.

"Like a mist, like a cloud, was the world formed when it took shape,
when the mountains appeared above the waters. And in an instant the
great hills came into being.

"Only by a marvellous force and power was it possible to carry out
what had been decided upon: the formation of mountains and valleys,
with cypresses and pines upon their surface.

"Then the Plumed Serpent was filled with joy : 'Thou art Welcome !'
He cried, 'O Heart of the Heavens! O Hurakan! O Furrow of the
Lightning ! O Thunderbolt !'

" ' What We have brought into being and formed, shall have its
accomplishment,' They answered."

It is not difficult to see in the Plumed Serpent, who has his symbol
in the seal of The Theosophical Society, the Power called Fohat, "cosmic
electricity," who ran circular errands throughout the universe. The
progress of the earlier Rounds is then rapidly, yet beautifully outlined:

"And first were formed the earth, the mountains and the plains;
the course of the waters was divided; the rivers made their way among
the mountains; it was in this order that the waters came into being,
when the great hills were revealed.

"Thus was the creation of the world, when it was formed by Them,
Who are the Heart of the Heavens and the Heart of the earth; for
thus are They named, who first made fruitful the heavens and the earth,
that had been suspended inert in the midst of the waters.

"Thus was the world made fruitful, when They made it fruitful,
while its development and its completion were being meditated upon
by Them."

NOTES AND COMMENTS 117

So far, the first chapter of the Popol Vuh, the Guatemalan Secret
Doctrine, covering the cosmic dawn, and the first Round, in which
germinated the creative seeds carried over from past manvantaras.

The second chapter covers, in the same rapid way, and with a like
use of symbolism, the second and third Round, in which vegetable and
animal life came into being.

"Then They gave fertility to the creatures of the mountains, to the
guardians of the forests; the creatures that dwell among the mountains,
the deer, the birds, the lions, the tigers, the serpents, vipers, snakes,
guardians of creeping plants.

"Thus spake He who engenders, He who gives life : 'Was it to
remain in silence, to continue without movement, that the shaded woods
and creeping plants were made? Therefore it is good that there are
beings to dwell among them!'

"Thus They spoke, while They brought fertility into being; and
forthwith beasts and birds came into being. Then They gave the beasts
and birds their dwellings :

" ' Thou, deer, along the river banks and in the ravines shalt thou
sleep; here shalt thou rest, in the brushwood and undergrowth. In the
forests shall ye multiply, on four feet shall ye go !' Thus was it fulfilled,
as it was declared to them.

"The dwelling places of the greater and the lesser birds were given
to them in like manner : 'Birds, ye shall dwell in the tree-tops and among
the creeping plants; there shall ye make your nests and there shall ye
increase ! Ye shall dwell upon the branches of the trees and among the
twigs of the creeping plants!' Thus was it declared to the deer and to
the birds; and they took possession of their dwelling places and their
lairs. Thus to the creatures of the earth did He who engenders, and
He who gives life, distribute their abodes.

"Therefore, when all were made, both beasts and birds, it was
proclaimed to the beasts and birds by the Creator, by the Moulder, by
Him who engenders, by Him who gives life :

" ' Cry out ! Sing ! Since the power to cry out and sing has been
given to you; let your voices be heard, each according to his kind,
according to his race!' Thus was it said to the deer, to the birds, to
the lions, the tigers and the serpents :

" ' Call upon Our names ! Honour Us, who are your Mother and
Father! Call upon Hurakan, the Great Breath, upon the Furrow of the
Lightning, upon the Thunderbolt ! Call upon the Heart of the Heavens,
the Heart of the Earth, upon the Creator, the Moulder, upon Him who
engenders, upon Him who gives life ! Give voice ! Call upon Us !
Greet Us !' Thus was it proclaimed to them.

"But to them it was not given to speak as man speaks ; they could
only chatter, or trill, or croak, without semblance of speech, each one
uttering his proper sound.

118 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

"When the Creator and the Moulder understood that the creatures
could not speak, They said once more to each other :

" ' The creatures cannot utter Our names, though We be their
Creators, their Moulders. It is not well!' Thus They said to one
another, — He who engenders and He who gives life.

"And to the creatures it was proclaimed: 'Ye shall be changed,
because it is not given to you to utter speech. Therefore, We have
changed Our purpose: Your food and your sustenance ye shall retain;
your lairs and your dwellings ye shall possess. They shall be the woods
and the ravines. But Our glory is not perfect, since ye call not upon
Our names.

" ' Other beings shall come into existence, who will have the power
to call upon Us; We shall give them power to obey. Fulfil, therefore,
your destinies ! As for your bodies, they shall be consumed ! . . .

This closes the third Round. Nowhere, perhaps, in the Scriptures
of the world does there exist a finer, nobler definition of man, than
this in the Popol Vuh, the Quiche Scripture of Guatemala : Man is the
being who can worship. Man is the being who can pray and call upon
the Divinity. Man is the being to whom is given the power to obey.

From this point, from the opening, namely, of the fourth Round,
the parallelism between the Popol Vuh and the Stanzas of Dzyan, as
expounded in The Secret Doctrine, becomes exceedingly close. In
symbolism, it is true, but in a symbolism that hardly veils the truth, is
set forth the history of the earlier races; the first formative attempts,
when "Nature, unaided, failed." The stanzas follow :

"Thereupon a new effort to form beings was made by the Creator
and the Moulder, by Him who engenders, by Him who gives life : 'Let
the trial be made again ! The time of the seeds approaches. The dawn
is at hand. Let Us make those who shall support and sustain Us !

" ' How shall We compass it that We may be invoked and com-
memorated upon the face of the earth? We have made trial already
of Our first work, Our first creation. They cannot call upon Our names,
nor honour Us. Therefore let Us make beings who may obey and
worship Us, beings who may nourish and sustain Us.'

"Thus did they speak. Then took place the creation and the
moulding of a new being ; of wet clay his flesh was moulded. But They
saw that Their work was not good. For the new creature was without
coherence, without stability, without movement, without strength, watery
and feeble. He could not move his head. His face was turned in one
direction only. His vision was veiled and he could not look backwards.
He had received the gift of utterance, but he was without understanding.
In the waters he melted away, and was not able to stand upright.

"Therefore once again the Creator and the Moulder spoke. 'The
greater our labour over him, the less can he go forth and multiply.
Therefore, let us seek to make an intelligent being!' said They.

NOTES AND COMMENTS 119

"So They once more unmade and destroyed Their handiwork and
Their creation. Thereupon They said : 'How shall We bring to being
creatures that may adore Us and invoke Us ?' "

The next stanzas introduce two mysterious beings, to whom are
given, in the old Atlantean tongue, the names of Shpiyacoc and
Shmucane, "the Hunters who shoot upward and downward with Their
blowpipes." It is a symbol somewhat like that of the mystical opening
verses of Genesis, when the Lord God breathed into the nostrils of man
the breath of life ; but the power suggested in the Guatemalan Scripture
seems to be spiritual rather than vital fire, the enkindling fire of Buddhi.
In other words, these two mystery beings, with their strange, harsh-
sounding names, seem to represent the hosts of the Planetary Spirits,
the descending Manasaputras, without the infusion of whose life there
can be no intelligent mankind; without the inbreathing of whose life-
breath, Nature, unaided, fails. The stanzas follow:

"Then They said, as They took counsel once more with one another :
'Let Us call to Our aid Shpiyacoc and Shmucane, the Hunters who shoot
upward and downward with the blowpipe. Let Them seek once more
to cast the lot of man, to divine the time of his formation!'

"Then to these Seers, ancestors of the sun, ancestors of light, They
spoke. For thus are They called by the Creator and the Moulder. They
spoke to the Lord of the sun, to the Lord of formative power, to the
Seers, saying:

" ' The time has come for Us to agree upon the signs of the man
We are to create, that he may uphold Us and sustain Us, so that We
may be invoked and worshipped!

" ' Begin, then, to speak, O Thou who engenderest and Thou who
givest birth ! Our Grandmother and Grandfather, Shpiyacoc, Shmucane !
Let the seeds germinate ! Let the dawn come ! . . .'"

But the time had not yet come; for the newly formed man, the
man of the second and early third Race, though more coherent than
the first, yet lacked intelligence. The symbol is a quaint one, and there
is, in the narrative, a certain strain of genuine humour:

"In the same moment there came into being a manikin made of
wood. Men were produced, who thereupon peopled the earth. They
increased, they multiplied, but their offspring were manikins made of
wood. They had neither heart nor understanding, nor remembrance
of their Creator. Their life was purposeless, like the lives of beasts.

"They remembered not the Heart of the Heavens; and this is how
they failed : they were but a makeshift and a failure ; at first they spoke,
but their faces dried up; without firmness were their feet and hands;
they had neither blood nor substance ; the cheeks of their faces were dry ;
their feet and hands were stiff, their bodies were devoid of suppleness.

"This is why they bethought them not to raise their faces towards

120 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

their Creator, their Father, their Providence. These were the first men
who dwelt in numbers on the surface of the earth.

"Thereupon came their end, their ruin and their destruction, the
ruin of these manikins made of wood, who were put to death.

"The waters began to swell, through the will of the Heart of the
Heavens, and a great flood came, which rose above the heads of the
manikins made of wood .... Thus was their destruction : they were
overwhelmed by a flood, and thick pitch descended upon them from the
heavens. . . .

"It is said that their descendants are the monkeys who dwell in the
forests to-day; they became monkeys in the woods, because they were
manikins made of wood. This is why the monkeys look like men. They
are of another race, sprung from the manikins made of wood." . . .

Then at last, with the incarnation of the Manasaputras, true men
came into being:

"They spoke and they reasoned. They saw and they heard. They
walked, they had feeling ; beings perfect and beautiful, whose faces were
the faces of men.

"Intelligence dwelt in them. They looked, they raised their eyes,
their vision embraced all things ; they beheld the whole world, and, when
they contemplated it, their vision turned in an instant from the vault of
the heavens, to regard anew the surface of the earth.

"Things most deeply hidden they saw at will, without need of
moving beforehand; and when they turned their vision upon the world,
they beheld all that it contains.

"Great was their wisdom ; their genius was extended over the forests,
over the rocks, over the lakes and seas, over the mountains and over the
valleys. Truly marvellous were they. . . .

"Then they gave thanks to their Creator, saying : 'In truth, we give
all manner of thanks ! We have received being, we have received life !
We speak, we hear, we think, we walk; we perceive and know equally
that which is far and that which is near.

" ' We behold all things, great and small, in the heavens and upon
earth. Thanks, therefore, to You, we have come into being, O Creator,
O Moulder ! We have life, O our Ancestress, our Ancestor !' Thus did
they speak, rendering thanks for their creation and their being.

"And they encompassed the measure and perception of all that is —
the four corners and the four angles of the heavens and of the earth."

Years ago Mme. H. P. Blavatsky called attention to this description
in the Popol Vuh of the early divine race, who saw and knew all things,
through their possession of the Third Eye. How that miraculous eye
was dimmed is related in the following stanza:

"But the Creator and the Moulder were displeased when They saw
these things. 'What these creatures tell us, is not well ! They know all
things, great and small !'

NOTES AND COMMENTS 121

"Therefore They once more took counsel of Him who engenders,
of Him who gives life : 'What are we to do with them ? Let their vision
be diminished! Let them see but a small part of the surface of the
earth !

"It is not well ! Their nature is not the nature of creatures !
They will be as gods if, at the time of the seeds and of the dawn, they
do not procreate and multiply.

" ' Let Us diminish Our handiwork, that there may be something
lacking ; for what We behold is not well ! Will they not seek to be equal
to Us who have made them, whose knowledge stretches far, embracing
all things?'

"Thus it was said by the Heart of the Heavens, by Hurakan the
Great Breath, by the Furrow of the Lightning, by the Thunderbolt,
by Him who engenders, by Him who gives life, Shpiyacoc, Shmucane,
the Builder, the Moulder. Thus did They speak, labouring once more
on the fashioning of Their handiwork.

"Then a mist was breathed over the pupils of their eyes by the Heart
of the Heavens; their eyes were veiled, like a mirror breathed upon.
They saw only what was near. This alone remained clear to them.

"Thus was the wisdom and knowledge of these men taken away,
with its principle and its source. Thus were formed and created our
ancestors and our fathers, by the Heart of the Heavens, by the Heart
of the earth.

"Then their wives came into being, and their women were formed.
The Creator took counsel once more, and, while they slept, they received
beautiful wives, and when they awoke, their wives were there. And their
hearts were filled with joy because of them. From them sprang all
mankind, all the races, great and small. . . .

"Many men came into being and multiplied. They lived together,
and great was their renown in the lands of the Sunrise.

"They lived in happiness, races black and white ; peaceful was their
aspect, sweet were their words, great was their intelligence. All were
of one speech; they invoked neither wood nor stone, remembering only
the word of their Creator, the Heart of the Heavens, the Heart of the
earth. And thus they prayed:

' ' Salutation to Thee, O Creator ! Thou who seest and hearest us !
Abandon us not, nor turn away from us ! O Divinity, who art in heaven
and on earth, continue our posterity so long as the sun shall move, so
long as the dawn shall break ! Let the seeds germinate ! Let the light
come!

" ' Grant to us to walk always in open ways, in paths without
ambush ! Let us ever remain at peace with our people ; let our lives
pass in happiness ! Grant us a life free from reproach ! Let the seeds
germinate ! Let the light come !' "

FRAGMENTS

I.

The world cannot hate you; but me it hateth; because I testify of
it, that the works thereof are evil. — John 7 : 7.

IF the world hate me not, therefore, it behooveth me as a servant
of Christ Jesus to consider wherefore not; and how it comes that
the disciple wear not the livery of his Lord. Should I not at least

have that speech which, like Peter's, would betray me, arousing the
suspicion of the world, and its consequent coldness? Why should I
desire the friendship and approbation of those who hated my Master?
"The world cannot hate you," said Jesus to those relatives of his ; blessed
Lord, forbid it that utter worldliness should ever make it possible to
pronounce such condemnation upon me !

If the world hate me, it behooveth me again to consider wherefore.
It might perchance be that it hated me from envy, in that I excelled
in worldliness and its successes; or that I could not even measure up
to the low standards of its demands. It is not the mere hating, therefore,
which should content me, but the reason of it. The world must take
knowledge of me that I have been with Jesus, and it can only do this
as it perceives in me that likeness which comes from constant association
and imitation. I may gauge this in myself : for in the former case
I shall be either distressed and restless over my unjust fate, or filled
with unctuous self-complacency at my superior virtue. In the second
case, I shall meekly glory in the dignity my Lord hath conferred upon
me, even while I feel most humbled that the pure eyes of the angels
should behold my unworthiness. This too will fill me with an ardent
zeal to attain that perfection which alone can justify his grace toward
me, so great a sinner.

II.

The shadows lengthen and the cool wind blows in from the desert.
The day is drawing to its end. What, O Shepherd of the stars, have
we to offer thee as harvest of these hours ? Thy strength have we been
using; thy time (so dearly bought!). Thy life, in which alone we live,
has been our trust, to profit by, or waste. The roof of thy solicitude
has vaulted us with the pure blue of heaven; the waters of thy grace

122

FRAGMENTS 123

have slaked our thirst; the sunshine of thy smile has filled the world,
and thy companionship has been its atmosphere. What have we done
with all these gifts, dear Lord? What do we bring thee as the daylight
folds its wings?

Our deeds are like wee grains of sand. Laid in thy dear hand the
scar there hides them, — mercifully. Look in our hearts — thy hearts,
these gardens thou hast planted, of which we have made such wastes. See,
in this corner I have weeded to-day ; and in this corner, I ! — and I ! —
Lord, dost thou see? And here I have pruned a rose, and tied a vine,
and placed support for a fragile stem. Lord, dost thou see ? And, Lord,
the sun was hot while we were toiling, and our backs, unused to toil,
ached beneath the strain. So we idled much, and lay down in the shade.
Those moments sting us now like poisoned thorns ; we are thankful for
the aching back and burning sun, whose recollection brings us peace.

So we have repentance that we offer, and gratitude ; and recognition
of a guiding hand and charity for weakness and for ignorance. We
know these will not fail us. So we pray for clearer faith to-morrow,
deeper trust, the energy of hope, the courage to endure. All must be
for some great purpose of thine own; in that we rest.

May thy compassion brood o'er us this night; thy white souled
angels watch us while we sleep. Amen. CAVE.

What is that middle path, O Bhikkhu [disciple], avoiding these
two extremes, [sensuality and painful asceticism] discovered by the
Tathdgata — that path which opens the eyes, and bestows understanding,
which leads to peace of mind, to the higher wisdom, to full enlighten-
ment, to Nirvana? Verily it is this noble eightfold path: that is to say:

Right views:
Right aspirations:
Right speech:
Right conduct:
Right livelihood:
Right effort:
Right mindfulness : and
Right contemplation,

— BUDDHIST SUTTAS.

THEOSOPHY

A LECTURE*

LUNCHING with friends to-day, I asked them if they would
be good enough to suggest one or two of the misconceptions
regarding Theosophy and The Theosophical Society which it
would be as well to remove, if possible, on this occasion. One
of them said he thought it would be wise to explain that I am speaking,
this afternoon, as a member of The Theosophical Society that was
founded by Madame Blavatsky and friends of hers, in 1875; and that
this Society has no connection whatsoever either with the Society in
India which is under the leadership of Mrs. Annie Besant, or with the
Society at Point Loma which also occasionally uses the name of
Theosophy. Anyone who knows anything about us will have realized,
without that explanation, and even without any intimate acquaintance
with us, that we could not possibly be connected with an organization
of individuals who seem, at least, to have been doing their utmost to
create discontent, — in India particularly; or, in the other case, with an
organization which urges a premature friendliness with an unrepentant
Germany.

It was also suggested that it would be well to make it clear that
Theosophy is not a religion. Some people seem to think it is a sect.
Now there are enough sects — enough creeds — in the world, without
adding to their number. Theosophy is not a religion. It is a means
by which religions can be understood; just as it is a means by which
sciences can be understood, and, more important than anything else,
a means by which life can be understood.

Those were the only two points that I can remember now, that
were suggested ; but it occurred to me that it would be as well to explain
further that Theosophy is nothing new. Some people seem to think that
it is one of the innumerable movements of modern times, invented by
individuals, and, I am afraid, in a great many instances conducted for
the benefit of those individuals; — a sort of new revelation; or a new
method of never becoming ill; or of making money without trouble.

Actually, The Theosophical Society is extravagantly old-fashioned.
I believe, and I hope, that it is the most old-fashioned organization in
this country at the present time, — old-fashioned, because, among other
things, it believes in tradition, in honour, in womanhood. It believes in
all sorts of things in which the modern world seems to have lost its
faith. Among other things, it believes that the past contains many
lessons which we must understand, if we are going to understand the

• Delivered at the Thimble Theatre, New York, on the Sunday following the Convention of
The Theosophical Society, April, 1919, and reproduced from stenographic notes.

THEOSOPHY 125

present, or act intelligently for the future. Perhaps we might say that
the best evidence of our old-fashioned attitude toward the world in
general, was given during the War. We have a magazine, — the official
organ of the Society, — called the THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY. And from
the very beginning of the War, in 1914, article after article appeared
in that magazine, protesting against our national neutrality. We were
old-fashioned enough to believe that our neutrality at that time was
dishonouring; to believe that there was a principle at stake; that every
man who loved righteousness had a duty to perform; that we ought
to have drawn whatever weapons we possessed, or, if we possessed no
weapons at all, that we ought to have fought without them, on general
principles. Throughout the war, not only in the QUARTERLY, but at
Convention after Convention of the Society, declarations were made,
on behalf of the Society, unanimously asserting that we had certain
duties, as a nation and as individuals, and that neutrality in itself, —
assuming for one moment that a moral question was at issue, — that
national neutrality is just as criminal, just as repulsive, as the luke-
warmness so graphically described by Saint John the Evangelist.

There is a great deal going on at the present time toward which
we adopt what some would call an old-fashioned attitude. For instance,
a few days ago (it should be clearly understood that we have no concern
whatsoever with politics), it was stated in the New York Times that the
official representative of this great nation had argued against Brussels
as the headquarters of the proposed League of Nations on the ground
that Belgium had suffered so many wrongs. Now if that means anything
at all, it means that because Brussels was involved in the war; because
Belgium, instead of assenting to the violation of treaties, resisted the
aggressor and fought for international righteousness, — therefore she must
continue to be a centre of discord and cannot be a centre of justice.
We do not understand that and do not, in a sense, wish to understand
it. I note it here because it seems to suggest the antithesis of that
which is typical of the Society. We are inclined to look at things in
a simple and direct way. We have an extraordinary reverence for facts,
but no use whatsoever for dreams. We feel that when it comes to the
solution of a problem like the headquarters for a League of Nations,
the reasons advanced against Brussels are no reasons. It seems to us
as if individuals who are reasoning in that way are the victims of a
distorted vision which is one of the symptoms of a modern disease, —
a disease which makes people behave, all over the world, as if they had
just come out of a sleep induced by ether.

Now why is it that we are not only old-fashioned, but are thankful
that we are? Why is it that, instead of being innovators, we are, in
fact, deliberately, consciously, trying to keep alive in the world an old
tradition? For the understanding of this, we have to go back to 1875,
when The Theosophical Society was founded. I want to remind you

126 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

what the condition of the world was at that time. Few to-day realize
the enormous change that has taken place since then. In 1875 both
science and religion were hide-bound. Both of them had iron-clad
creeds; they were narrow-minded to a degree. Science was still some-
thing of an innovation. But science, which ought to have been based
upon sound principle, had misunderstood that principle, and in place
of a principle had already put a creed. Now the principle ought to have
been that knowledge is based upon experience, — not upon the experience
of one man, but upon the experience of a series of experimenters. And
science, instead of adopting that platform, adopted it with vital limi-
tations. Science declared that knowledge can be derived only from
experiment, from the observation of so-called facts, but added that these
facts can only be derived from the use of the physical senses. Science in
that way narrowed itself almost incredibly. Nothing was real except
what you could see and touch and weigh. For that reason, science was
opposed to religion, — looked upon it as a collection of superstitions.
And religion, in its turn, narrowing itself down as it did, so as to accept
one revelation, contained in one book, given out by one authority, and
discrediting its real foundation — the universal experience of mankind —
turned upon science as its enemy, trying to destroy it, just as science
tried to destroy religion.

The only other important factor in that situation was spiritualism.
Spiritualism, in 1875, was quite the vogue, — the fashion, — and spiritual-
ism declared that all the phenomena with which it was acquainted, were
the product of the intervention of spirits from the other world. Science,
of course, jeered at that attitude. Religion looked upon it as blasphemous.

At that time, and in those conditions, Madame Blavatsky stepped
into the arena. She was a born fighter, and she came into the world
to fight. She attacked, not science, but the narrow-mindedness of
scientists; not religion, but what she defined as "churchianity," — the
crystallization of forms and creeds. That crystallization she assailed
furiously, and very few people to-day can realize the extent to which
she damaged the reputation of both, necessarily having to destroy before
she could construct, or before construction could be begun. She pointed
out to the scientists that while they were entitled, each one in his place,
to limit his range of observation, to confine himself to any given section
of nature, he had no right to dogmatize concerning the limits to which
nature extended ; he had no right to declare that his own little department
was all that nature contained; no right to assert that there might not
be worlds unseen, as well as worlds seen.

Members of the Society as well ag Madame Blavatsky did every-
thing that they could do to prove their point. They turned to the
sciences of the past; they turned to records of the inexplicable; they
asked the scientists of 1875 whether they were going to throw overboard
the experience of centuries. Turning to religion, they asserted that it

THEOSOPHY 127

is impossible to understand one religion only, without taking into account
other expressions of the religious life, — just as it is impossible to
understand and to use effectively one language only. Pointing to the
history of the world, they asserted (in this they were without sufficient
proof, perhaps, although since then the proof has been accumulating), —
they asserted that mankind had been existing on earth, not for four or
five thousand years, but for hundreds of thousands of years; that our
civilization is not the first, but that civilization has followed civilization
for ages, and that each has produced its own efflorescence, its own
particular type of wisdom. They declared that so long as the Church
confined itself, as it was doing, to the record of one religion only, or
of one sect only, — to that particular line of experience, that particular
type, — it could not conceivably understand even its own type. It was
pointed out, for instance, that, after all, Christ was an oriental and was
speaking to orientals; and it would be difficult, perhaps impossible, for
a European or an American to enter into the spirit of His teaching,
unless also acquainted, through other channels, with the peculiar approach
of the oriental mind when it comes to deal with man and with the
universe.

Now, since that day, very much, in one sense, has been accomplished.
Scientists are beginning to discover the limitations of their own methods.
More than that, as the result of their own methods, narrow as they
were, they have been forcing their way into the unseen world, or, rather,
the unseen world has been forcing itself upon them. They have been
dealing more and more with invisibles, — the X-ray, and so on. . . .
One thing after another has happened within the world of science which
has compelled science to recognize that the objective, — that is to say,
the things that can be sensed or measured, are the results and not the
causes, so far as the outer activities of the universe are concerned.
There is always the unseen back of the seen ; the finer forces responsible
for the action of the grosser forces.

And yet, in spite of that progress along its own line, it was said
truly at one of the meetings of the Convention yesterday, that Bolshevism
as we see it today is the logical product of the so-called scientific
attitude, — the attitude which sees in human life the end and not the
means; which sees in the prolongation of physical life the greatest
achievement open to man; the attitude which is materialistic through
and through. Anyone who knows anything of a modern American
university will realize that if you take the professorial body as a whole,
most of them, even though they do not call themselves Socialists, —
certainly not willingly, I think, do they call themselves Bolshevists, —
are yet saturated with Socialism, because they are materialists. If you
once grant that the only thing which ought to be taken into account,
if you would serve humanity, is the physical well-being of humanity,
I do not say that even then Bolshevism is the logical outcome, or that

128 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

Socialism is the logical outcome — I do not believe they would be, — but
I do think that if you grant those materialistic premisses, you can affirm
almost anything you choose as resulting from those premisses. If you
conceive that physical well-being is the only thing in life really worth
striving for, then whatever a man considers will be profitable and
convenient is the thing to which he has a right. Socialism has been
defined as a method of obtaining as much pleasure as possible with as
little effort as possible. Who can blame a man for adopting that
philosophy of life if he thinks he lives for forty or fifty or sixty
years, — whatever it may be, — and that that is the end as far as he is
concerned !

If it be true that one of the results of this misunderstanding of
true science is Bolshevism, it is equally true that while the Church in
its turn has progressed enormously since 1875 ; has liberated itself from
some of its old shackles, — the main result is that the faith that it then
had, narrow and dogmatic as it was, has been spread like a thin layer
of butter over a vast surface of bread, absolutely without depth and
practically also without taste. I do not know anything at the present
time so inanimate, so lifeless, as the modern Church; and this, I am
glad to say, is recognized by Church-goers themselves. They turn from
Church to Church. They will leave the Episcopal Church and will join
a Presbyterian Church, to see if there is not a little more life in that.
And having joined a Presbyterian Church, and found that there is less
instead of more life, they will join a Methodist Church. Then, having
had a similar experience in the Methodist Church, they try out Christian
Science, move from that to the Vedanta, or Rome, and so on. Assuming
for one moment that they are really looking for life, and truth, and help,
wandering from pillar to post, and do not find what they are seeking, —
does it not follow that the clergy themselves do not possess that which
these people seek? Is it not obvious that many of the clergy themselves
have lost faith? What is the modern clergyman doing? He apologizes
for whatever faith he has, and then starts, within his own Parish or
ministry, as many clubs, mothers' meetings, boy-scout movements, and
so forth, as he can raise money to support, and manages to keep together
a congregation either by this means, or by dragging in widely advertised
orators from the Bolshevist class, that his congregation may be titillated
by means of new sensations.

I well know that there are some devout men in the Churches, men
who are splendid in every sense of the word, men who must be revered.
And yet, why was it that so many of them were absolutely without
light and guidance during the great war? Why was it that among the
few, — the very few, — in New York City who did speak out with
comparative boldness, whose boldness, whose sense of honour ran away
with their discretion, — why was it that in these few cases their
statements so rarely carried the force of burning conviction? I can

THEOSOPHY 129

remember a sermon delivered in a Fifth Avenue Church, not very many
months before this country finally did get into the war, in which it was
suggested that the time might come in the future (this was supposed
to be a terrific utterance, most dangerous and hairlif ting) , the time might
come when this nation would feel that, in spite of the great principle
of neutrality, ... it would have to exert its influence against the
unwarrantable aggressions taking place in Europe.

Both science and religion are in need, whether they realize it or not.
And there is this difference between scientists and the clergy: the
clergy recognize their need in a great many cases, and scientists, I am
sorry to say, very rarely do. They are self-satisfied. They have no
reason to be, but they are. And so long as a man is contented with
himself and his method, there is not so very much hope for him. Among
the clergy there is an avowed, and, in some cases, ostentatious disbelief
in what they are doing.

The question is, whether Theosophy can meet the need that exists.
We believe that it can. Theosophy insists that if scientists would enlarge
their outlook and their method, their general approach toward life is
sound, and could, with advantage, be adopted by the Church. We
believe, in other words, that religion ought to be, and when properly
understood is, an experimental science. What is religion for? What
is the purpose of religion? Is it not, — ought it not to be, — to help a
man to understand the science of. life; to help him to recognize that
life is the greatest of all arts, the greatest of all sciences; to insist that
it is not an easy thing to live? It is a supremely difficult thing to live.
Most people think anybody can live who can eat. Now, supposing the
modern clergyman were to adopt that as one of the planks in his
platform, and were to say : My friends, you all think you can live ; you
don't know how. You should come here to study the art of life.
Supposing he were to say : Christ was the great artist, the great scientist
in matters of life. He came on earth to teach you how to live, to teach
you the laws of life. I believe that if a clergyman were to talk that
way long enough, and were to do his utmost to live as he preached, he
would at last get a congregation made up of people who were responsive,
and who would want to learn how to live; would want to get at the
truth of things; who would want to be shown the principles which
underlie right conduct, wise conduct.

Religion, as I have said, is the science of life, and not of life in
any one department, not of life limited to the things you can touch and
taste, but life as inclusive of all possible human experience; inclusive
also, of course, of that which transcends human experience; life as
infinite and life as eternal. If that attitude were adopted, how foolish
it would be to ignore the past! Suppose that you were going to study
some branch of modern science, what would you do? You would perhaps
begin with the study of a text-book of some kind or other. That book

130 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

would contain the accumulated experience of generations of experi-
menters,— the tests they had made. And your instructors would not
ask you blindly to accept their statements. They would say: this has
been our experience; if you care to make these experiments, you can
obtain the same results. That ought to be the attitude of anyone who
undertakes to teach religion. He would give you a text book, perhaps
several text books; he would go back into the past to verify the results
of his own experience. He would have discovered that thousands of
years ago, men had the same religious experience that they have to-day.
Whether he were to turn to China or to India, to Egypt or even to
Mexico, he would find the same symbols used, the same doctrines taught ;
— the language varying, of course, greatly, from age to age, but none
the less, in spite of that difference of language, the same essential truth.
He would turn to a book such as the Bhagavad Gita, — one of the greatest
scriptures of India, written many hundreds of years ago, long before
the time of Christ; and yet, so long ago, written as the synthesis of
a dozen different systems of philosophy prevalent at the time; written
for the purpose of reconciling different schools of philosophical and
religious thought. He would study that book, and if he ever really
understood it, he would discover it to be one of the most instructive
treatises on Christian theology that he had ever read, because it is dealing
with human life and human experience, — with the relation of the soul
to God.

"In thy thoughts, do all thou dost for Me!" Krishna is speaking,
and the reason I am going to quote this is that you will see that the
same words might have been used by St. John of the Cross, attempting,
in that case, to speak for his Master. It is as if Christ were there
speaking to one of His saints :

"In thy thoughts
Do all thou dost for Me! [that is, for the Logos, for God]

Renounce for Me!

Sacrifice heart and mind and will to Me!
Live in the faith of Me! In faith of Me
All dangers thou shalt vanquish by My grace :
But, trusting to thyself and heeding not,
Thou canst but perish !"

Finding in it, as I have said, both a spirit and a purpose so
extraordinarily like that which you find in the best writings of the
Christian Church, you might read further, and then perhaps you would
find a slight difference.

"Never the spirit was born ; the spirit shall cease to be never ;

Never was time it was not ; End and Beginning are dreams !
Birthless and deathless and changeless remaineth the spirit for ever ;
Death hath not touched it at all, dead though the house of it seems !"

THEOSOPHY 131

And that, again, is a statement attributed to the teacher — the great
Being — who was recognized in those days as a Messenger from heaven.
You will find a slight difference there, not a difference if you compare it
with the Bible, but a difference if you compare it with the teaching
ordinarily advanced in Churches.

"Never the spirit was not; the spirit shall cease to be never; birth-
less," — that which has a beginning has an end. That which is immortal
in the future is immortal in the past. Hume pointed that out many,
many years ago. And that is Christianity. I do not mean that anyone
has to believe it in order to be saved. But anybody has to believe it
who wishes to be logical and consistent. And it is strictly in accord
with Christianity. "Before Abraham was, I am."

However, my point is this : wherever you turn in the ancient world,
whether to the great religions or to the mysteries, you will find that
the essence of their doctrines is exactly the same as the essence of the
doctrine that we know as Christianity. If you will compare the writings
of Saint Paul, for instance, with those of Shankaracharya, you will find
that both were writing from their own experience of things which they
knew and had tested, and that what they were saying to their hearers
was : do this same thing, and you also will find the same truth ; carry
out this same experiment, obey these same laws and, as a result, this
knowledge will come to you. That is why any real student of
Theosophy, recognizing the need of tradition as a check on the present,
as a means of testing and of verifying current experience, has an
immense respect for the past. No real student of Theosophy could
ever be a revolutionary. He believes in progress. He believes in growth.
But he does not believe that you can help a tree to grow by tearing
it up by the roots ; that you can create something out of nothing. The
present is the outcome of the past, and the future will be the outcome
of past and present. He is comforted by his belief, because, when
these modern innovators begin to upset things, to tear things down so
as to build on the debris they have created, he is inclined, like Kipling's
oriental, to smile. He knows so well, as the result of his study of
the past, that China tried Socialism ages ago, and got terribly tired of
it. He knows that, when all is said and done, nature is orderly, and
that nature cannot be cheated. Even her volcanoes are orderly in
comparison with Bolshevism. Nature will take care of all these
eccentricities, and will level them all out, restoring all things that ought
to be restored. I do not mean that we should fold our hands and do
nothing. On the contrary, I mean that we ought to co-operate with
nature, — work with her, and not against her. But we can never work
with her, never understand her, unless we have a huge respect for facts.
Because facts are divine things. There are very few of them. It is
enormously difficult to discover a fact. But when you discover it,
cherish it; live by it. You will be rewarded. The facts of life, —

132 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

those are the things that interest students of Theosophy, not dreams
about life. Ideals are dreams unless we stand on facts.

The only way to realize an ideal, — and you cannot live without
ideals, — is to ask yourself, not how you can jump to the ideal, but
how you can step to the ideal, — to look one step ahead, to move very
carefully, and then advance from one point to the next point. It does not
matter whether you are trying to attain to consciousness of the Divinity,
or whether you are trying to learn stenography; the only way to learn
is to advance from point to point. . . . Facts are few, because
principles are few, and very simple. The modern mind bewilders itself
with the most elaborate balancing of expediencies. You see unfortunate
statesmen in Europe, — or some of them, at least, — trying to do this at
the present time. Others talk about principles, and you stop to examine
the nature of those principles, and you find them a lot of unco-ordinated
dogmas. Principles are eternal; changeless; laws of the spiritual life;
laws of God; questions of right and wrong; questions of honour and
dishonour. And there is not any question in life which, if seen through
to the bone, may not be stated in terms of right and wrong. It is
merely a question of insight, of understanding, of seeing things simply.

It is because students of Theosophy have such immense respect
for facts that they see the world, and life, in a way that is different
from the modern approach. They do not see the world or life as dull.
They see it as an amazing romance. Granting that life is an expression
of an eternal spirit or, to use slightly different terms, granting that
God is responsible for the universe, that the universe is an unfolding
of part of Himself, a manifestation of Divinity, — it must follow of
necessity that instead of being a mechanical something, it is a romantic
something; that instead of justice, divine justice, being a mechanical
balancing of objective events, the real justice is a poetic justice, —
because God-given. You see, the trouble with most people who call
themselves Christians is, that they don't believe in Christ. They don't
believe in Him at all. They have done their best to exile Him from
earth. They don't realize that He moves among men to-day exactly as
He did in Palestine after the resurrection. They find it difficult to
swallow that part of their creed. What encouragement it would be for
them if they would turn to the records of the great past! For then
they would find that instead of being asked to believe something unique
and therefore incredible, they are asked to believe something that can
be vouched for from many different sources, in many different ways.
Instead of an isolated miracle and a suspension of natural law, they
are asked to accept something that is in strict accordance with the laws
of nature and of life. But now, for lack of understanding, they do
not believe in their Christ. It is one of the world's great tragedies.
No wonder that Theosophy desires to revive among Christians a faith
in their own Saviour, a faith in the one whose name they use and misuse.

THEOSOPHY 133

Life is full of romance and the greatest romance that was ever
written is the life of Christ. What did He come to do? He came to
reveal the laws of life; yes. He came to show the way, to show the
truth and the life. But He also came to reveal to mankind, — those
who would condescend to listen to him, — that which is the destiny of
all men. The first-born of many brethren, He came to rekindle, — to
bring fire from heaven, like Prometheus of old, — to rekindle in the
hearts of men, faith in themselves. And that seems to me to be the
greatest of all modern needs; the greatest of all modern deficiencies.
Taught at one period that they were descended from apes — slightly
discouraged, perhaps, at the retrospect — they were also told, on the
other hand, that they were souls specially created by God, without any
past, and whose future depended upon His will only, and that that
future would consist in an eternity of heaven which they did not want, —
because you will agree with me that if you take the ordinary view of
heaven, there is no one in this room who would want to go there.
How grossly unfair it would be to attribute such teaching to Christ!
He did not use modern language. He was talking to Jews, to fishermen,
very ignorant, simple-minded. And yet, how evident it is — text after
text could be quoted — how evident it is that He was holding up before
the eyes of men a vision of eternal progress toward God. It is as if
He came to each one personally and said : You, and you, and you think
of yourselves as bodies, trying to grasp from life the little pleasure you
can get out of it during the few years you are here. Do you not
know that you are immortal, the children of God; that after ages and
ages you must of necessity evolve, grow, into the full stature of my
manhood, becoming as I am? He would have said, — and He did say, —
there is no power in the universe which you are not destined to wield;
no knowledge which you are not destined to acquire; no power of love
or sympathy which does not lie latent in your heart. Believe in your-
selves ; believe that you are divine, because you are the children of God.

He wept over Jerusalem, because Jerusalem had sold its birthright
for a mess of pottage. Would He not weep over the modern world, —
does He not weep? I can see from here, as I stand, a glimpse of Fifth
Avenue and Eighth Street. Would he not weep over that? See those
people as they pass there. What are they thinking about? Where are
they going to? Of what does their life consist? What is their hope?
What is their desire? Are they feeling as if they were the children
of God? What is their outlook on life, — this life as it is?

Well, — that is something of what a student of Theosophy thinks
should be the message of the modern Church; something of the
message that the modern scientist also should be able to draw from his
researches, once he sees that the sphere of the mind and the sphere
of the heart are just as much open to experiment as the sphere of
matter. Soon or late, he must see for himself that he is a child of

134 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

God. He may not like it. He may even resent it. But, after all,
facts are facts. It is not a question of whether a man wishes to live.
He cannot kill himself. He can kill his body; that is all. It is not
a question of whether he wishes to evolve. He must evolve. Nothing
can stop it. And the truth of it is, he would like to grow. He would
like to grow, because in his heart of hearts he longs to serve. More
than that, if he understood more, he would long to co-operate with
those who are the greatest of the servants of nature. He would long
to co-operate with Christ.

That is the way, then, that students of Theosophy feel about
Theosophy. They use the term as St. Paul used it. He spoke of Christ
as the power of God and the wisdom of God (Theosophia). Because
it is the wisdom of God, it is eternal light. Turned onto old forms and
symbols, it reveals their ever old and yet ever new meaning. It reveals
in all ages a new hope, a new purpose, a new destiny, — oh, yes! the
old destiny, but seen at last for what it is, — seen at last in the glory
of perpetual dawn. Theosophy: the old teaching of the mysteries; the
old teaching of the world-saviours, — expressed in terms that men of
to-day can understand, and so opening before them new and splendid
vistas, — showing them a way to live and a way to die and a way to
labour; showing them that man, in spite of himself, is to be saved;
that man, in spite of himself, is to grow out of himself into the full
measure of manhood, then to live as God means him to live, in a new
heaven and on a new earth. That was the message of Christ; that is
the message of Theosophy: a re-statement of old truths, — that is all.

E. T. H.

To go along that road, aye, and to reach the goal, is all one with the
will to go; but it must be a strong and single will, not a broken-zvinged wish
fluttering hither and thither, rising with one pinion, struggling and falling
with the other. — ST. AUGUSTINE.

LEAVES FROM A FARM
ALMANAC

I.

A MESSAGE FROM MASTERS

T"F THERE be one sure sign of the charlatan or the deluded dreamer

it is the claiming to receive messages from Masters. But if there

-JL. is one certain fact, that can be predicated with absolute surety

about even the most recent aspirant to discipleship, it is that he

receives such messages every day. The only question is, Has he learned

to recognize them for what they are?

Mr. Judge used to say that he would not object so much to the time
people spent upon their morning newspapers, if they would only read
them as messages from the Masters — which they in fact were, for those
who had really learned to read. But Mr. Judge was by no means a tyro
in occultism, and for some of us smaller people the messages must be
much more personally directed and labelled. The Master Christ likened
himself to the good shepherd ; and when one looks over a whole flock of
sheep, and sees some wise and docile and keeping steadily to the
appointed course, while others are very young and ignorant, or full
of self-will and whims, there is no doubt at all as to which of the two
classes will need the more constant attention of the shepherd, and receive
the more frequent "messages" from him through the faithful, busy dogs.
When I think of this simile, and of my own special ingenuity in finding
unexpected ways in which to do things wrongly, and lose myself, and
wander from the Path, I have no hesitancy at all in saying that I receive
endless messages from Masters every day I live, and that without them
I would not be alive at all. Here is one, that came to me to-day.

Ten days of violent rain had played havoc with our road to the
Farm, and yesterday a heavy truck had become mired in it, sinking up
to the hubs of the wheels and having to be dug out. We needed to
make a rock bottom, and as the only rocks available on the Farm were
both heavy and distant, I thought of the excavation that was in progress
some half a mile from us, where a contractor, a Mr. Bowman, was doing
some blasting. I walked over to see whether he could give me some
rock and lend me some men.

The Italian, of whom I inquired for Mr. Bowman, told me he was
not there as yet, but that I might ask "Joe," pointing out a negro who
was tending the movable boiler which supplied steam for the drills.
So I made my way to Joe and asked him if he knew where I could find

135

136 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

any men. He was a well set-up darky, very black, and very clear of
skin and eye, dressed in old overalls and a black cap, such as engineers
and firemen seem to affect. His looks did not suggest either the sheep
dog or the Lodge messenger. Yet he proved to be both. He answered
me pleasantly and courteously.

"No Sir, I don' think you'll fin' none 'round here. Men is mighty
scarce 'round here. Mr. Bowman, he's short of 'em all de time, and
can't get none. And down town the're jus' standin' 'roun' de corners in
crowds. 'Pears like they don't wantter do nothin'. You asks 'em where
the're workin'; and they says they aint workin' nowheres. You asks 'em
if they wants a job; and they looks kind o' tired, and says, 'What kin'
of a job?' An' when you tells 'em, they says they reckon they don't
wan' to work jus' yet. They oughtter be an anti-loafin' law for them
fellers — just as they was down in West Virginia whah I was raised.
Aint good for nobody justter stand roun' all day on de corners."

"You are right there, Joe," I said. "Everybody ought to work at
something."

"Yes, Sir, dat's what I says. I's been workin' since I was eight
yeahs ol'. My father died then; an' my mother she wahnt no good, and
I run away from home. Bime bye I was workin' for a man named
Hoag, a white man. He had a farm. I thought he was awful hard on
me. He made me get up at half-pas' four in de mornin', and water
de stock and do de chores. I thought he was awful hard; makin' me
do things all day long, tellin' me to do this and do that. But I come
to know better. He taught me to work.

"I 'member when I was fourteen he says to me, 'Joe,' says he,
'you're too ol' a boy now to have me after yo' all de time, tellin' you
what to do; tellin' you, do this and do that, pointin' out de wood pile
as though you aint never seen one befo', or showin' you de corn needs
hoein' as though you didn't know nothin' 'bout corn. You're too ol' a
boy fo' such kind o' foolishness. You know what oughtter be done on
this farm. Now you go do it'

"I 'member studyin' 'bout that all day. It made me kind o' proud to
think he'd trus' me that way; made me feel like I was a man, same as
him. And so I begun to notice.

"He was a mighty good man, was Mr. Hoag. I aint never foun'
a better. And mighty good to me. Yes, Sir, he taught me to work.
Credit to whah credit's due, I says, and it was Mr. Hoag what taught
me to work.

"It aint what all these fellers is lazy. Some of 'em is; but some
of 'em aint. It's jus' what they aint never been taught when dey was
young. Why, Sir, you see dat pipe by de run- way dere ? It was stickin'
right acrost, till I done move it. And them fellers would've let it lie
all day long, stumblin' or steppin' over it whensumever dey go in or out
— 'less somebody tell 'em to move it. And all dey gotter do is put their

LEAVES FROM A FARM ALMANAC 137

han' down and push it 'bout a foot one side. But would they do it
without bein' tol'? No, Sir, not they. They'd let it lie jus' whah it
was, till somebody tol' 'em. They aint got no gumption. They don't
notice nothin'. An' what they does notice they thinks aint none of their
business. They don't do nothin' 'less they gotter. They aint never
been taught to work."

"Joe," I said, "that Mr. Hoag seems to have been a pretty wise man ;
and a pretty good friend of yours."

"Yes, Sir! He was that. He was a mighty good man. Credit to
whah credit's due, says I. It was he what done taught me. And when
I lef him, to come No'th, he says, 'Joe,' says he, 'don't you depen' on
nobody. You depen' on yourself ; stan' on your own feet, and make
your own way. But if you ever get sick, and aint got no money, and
nowhars to go, you let me know. You just send a letter here to de farm.'
"I done what he tol' me; I earned my own way. An' I write to
him, off and on ; and he allus answers me. Some o' his letters is mighty
fine. But I aint never had to write him that I's sick, and aint got no
money, and nowhars to go. I earn my own way. An' if there aint no
work f o' me here on de boiler, or on de machines, den I do mos' anythin'.
I done clean streets, and carted ashes, — when there wahnt nothin' else.
But dere's allus somethin' — if you done know how to work. I get up
at de same time every day; half pas' five, winter and summer, — Sundays
too. If you's got a day off dere's allus somethin' to be done; the cellar
to clean up, or somethin' that needs fixin' 'bout the house. And if
you've got a job, you oughtter get at it early, and see dat de boilers
an' engines is all right; an' if you aint got a job, you oughtter get out
and look fo' it, 'fo' it's done gone away.

"But what I don't understan' is why there aint an anti-loafin' law
'round here, just as there was whah I was raised. It aint good for
nobody jus' to stan' roun' on de corners. Dat's whah my people gets
into all dah trouble — jus' standin' roun' on de corners, and de saloon
and de pool room. A man aint a man 'less he's workin'.

"An* there oughtter be somebody to whom they can go fo' work —
whose business 'tis to see they don't jus' loaf roun'. Down at Youngs-
town, or Charlottesville, somebody meets you 'most as soon as you get
off de cars, an' says to you, 'You a stranger roun' here?' An' you
says, 'Yes, Sir, I's a stranger.' An' he says, 'Coin' to work fo' some-
body?' An' you says, 'Don' know nobody here yet, Sir.' An' he says,
'There's a steel mill, over there. They wan' men.' Next day, if he
sees you roun' de street, he comes right up and says, 'Workin' fo'
somebody yet? Got a job?' An' if you says, 'Not yet, Sir,' he tells
you again, 'There's a steel mill over there ; they want men. And there's
a farm up de pike what wants hands; and Jim Smith wants a man to
look after his horses. You'd better go see 'em.' Then if de third day
he sees yo' hangin' roun' de corner, he just says, 'You come with me.'

138 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

And he takes yo' out to de stone piles on de pike — where you gotter work.

"Yes, Sir, I don' see why they aint got an anti-loafin' law 'roun'
here. De poor man he needs it — when he aint been taught to work."

"Yes, Joe," I answered, marvelling at such doctrine from such a
source, and wishing to draw him out further, "but why 'poor man'?
Surely, it doesn't matter whether one is rich or poor. Unless a man
works at something, he is, as you said, not a man at all. We all of
us need to work ; and need to be taught to work, if we haven't learned."

"Yes, Sir, dat's right. But it's most specially de poor man what
needs it, — an' needs it fo' his boy. De rich man can bring his son up
different; but de poor man has gotter bring his son up to work — or
he wont 'mount to nothin' at all. An' it's just in hangin' 'roun' de
corners dat he gets in wrong at de start; an' den it 'pears he can't
never get in right. It's most specially de poor man what needs de anti-
loafin' law. And it's most specialliest my people what needs it."

"Why your people, Joe?"

" 'Cose 'less they been taught to work, they won't work, 'less they
gotter. If they's got twenty-five dollars in their pocket, or maybe only
five dollars, or one dollar, they don' know whether they'll go to work
or not. They don' know whether they'll get up in the mornin' or sleep
some more. S'long as they's got any money they don' wantter work.
They won't look fo' a job. All they wantter do is to buy a new pair
of yaller shoes, what's mos'ly too small for 'em, and hang 'round de
corner."

I began to wish I could add Joe to the Department of Sociology
and Political Economy at some University. He would be a much needed
leaven. Indeed, I was of the opinion that were the lessons he could
teach really mastered, the rest of the department might be dispensed
with; for the problems they dealt with would for the most part have
ceased to exist. But I was still curious as to his ideas of rich and
poor; and as to just what he would include as "work." I was about
to ask him a question on this, when he went on of his own accord.

"I don't say all o' my people is dat way. But there's a mighty lot
of 'em what is. An' it 'pears like the young ones — who has had de
mos' schoolin' — is de worstest. 'Pears like der aint nobody to teach 'em
to work — dat dey gotter work; dat dey aint men, when dey just hang
'roun' an' do nothin'. They need de anti-loafin' law; an' I don' see
why we aint got it. Them what works won' be touched by it; and
them what don't work needs it. They needs it bad — my people."

"Joe," I said, "everybody needs it, white and black, rich and poor.
Everybody ought to work at something. And unless the rich man brings
his son up to work — and teaches him how to work — he will go to the
bad just as quick as any boy of your people. The only difference is
the kind of work. Some can do one thing and some another. Some
work with their hands and some with their heads. Most of us have to

LEAVES FROM A FARM ALMANAC 139

work with both. Surely you don't think that the only kind of work
is what you do with your hands."

"No, Sir! I don' think any foolishness like that. How could I?
What would I be doing here with dis boiler, 'less my boss had figured
out de job for me? An' 'less he kept hustling roun' to get jobs,
wouldn't be none for me, would there? Don't you think I knows dat?
Would any o' these fellers be workin' here if it wahnt for what Mr.
Bowman does — when he aint here at all, but figurin' in de office?

"Why it was only de other day I done tol' Mr. Bowman dat —
though he knows it, well as me. He keeps me to look after dis boiler
and de machines, — and his automobile sometimes, too. De brake wahnt
right on dat automobile. It needed a new linin', an' I done tol' him
so. But 'peared like he could never spare it long enough to get it fixed
right. And de other day he was goin' down a hill with it, and it
wouldn't hoi'. He tried to throw in de engine, but dat didn't hoi'
either; and 'fore he could do anythin' he run into de ditch. He wahnt
hurted none. But he might ha' been. And I beg him to go and get
it fixed right. Fo' if anythin' happen to him, then somethin' happen
to me too. Somethin' mighty serious happen to me. Credit to whah
credit's due, says I, and if Mr. Bowman didn't do what he does, I
couldn't do what I does, could I?"

"No you couldn't, Joe. But you're a wise man to know it. If
the rest of the country knew it as well as you do, we would all be a
great deal better off. But I am afraid they won't learn until they
have been taught ; and that the lesson will be pretty painful to everybody
concerned."

"Yes, Sir, dat's what I say. You gotter teach people. You can't
expect people to know things just of theirselves, without ever bein'
taught. But 'pears like there aint nobody to teach people to work,
leastwise, not 'roun' here. Dat's why I says there oughtter be an anti-
loafin' law.

"I got a boy. He's seventeen years ol'; an' last June he grajated
from de High School. I tried to teach him to work 'roun' de house
when he was littler. He's a good boy. But he run with de other
fellers at his school; an' I studied a lot what I could do with him.
So when he was done with school I wen' to see a man I knows — a
Mr. Johnson, a white man fo' whom I worked onct. I tol' him 'bout
my boy; an' de way he was beginnin' to stand 'roun' on de corners.
An' I ast him couldn't he fin' a place for my boy, somewhahs on a
farm — whah he'd be taught to work, same as I was. An' Mr. Johnson
said he didn't know, but he'd see. An' bime bye he wrote me dah was
a place on a farm near Ithaca. That's in New York State, but all
farm Ian'. I was mighty glad to get dat letter. I tol' my boy 'bout
it. He was kin' o' silent. He didn't wantter go none. But he's a
good boy; an' he went, — I reckon 'cose I tol' him to. But I got letters

140 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

from him now what says you couldn't pull him from dat farm, not
with a team of horses. He's a good boy, an' he knows he's learnin'
to be a man.

"Yes, Sir, we's all workin' now, I, an' my boy, an' my girl — for
I's got a girl too. She's twenty. She's workin' down town fo' a Miss
Brown — who's a dressmaker. She's doin' well, too.

"There's Mr. Bowman now, Sir. Over by de bank. He mus' have
come up de other way. I done thought he mus' have gone ter de other
job first; else he'd ha' been here an hour ago.

"No, Sir, I don' smoke." He waved away the cigarette I had
offered. "Don' either smoke or chaw, but I thanks you just as much.
You go roun' to de left here, and there's a path right up de bank.
Mr. Bowman, he'll do anythin' he can fo' you; but I reckon he can't
give you no men. 'Pears dere are mighty few men roun' here, these
days."

"I suspect that is so, Joe," I said, "but at all events I have found
one, even if I can't get him."

Mr. Bowman could not, or would not — I was not sure which —
do anything for me. Neither stone nor men could be had from him.
And when I asked him where else I might apply, and hope to fare
better, his answer was little more than a paraphrase of Mr. Hoag's
parting counsel to Joe: "Don't you depen' on nobody; you depen' on
yourself." If my road was to be mended, it was for me to mend it;
and if I needed men or stone, it was for me to find them. He had
all he could do to look after his own affairs.

I was no further forward than before in mending my road to the
Farm. But Joe had given where Bowman had refused; and it would
be my own fault if I were not further forward in mending my road
to the Kingdom of Heaven. For here, from the lips of this negro boiler-
tender, ringing true in every word and stamped with the hall-mark of
the Lodge from which it came, I had been given the message that I
most needed. "You know what ought to be done on this farm. Now
you go do it"

Like Joe, as I walked home, I kept "studyin' over" these words.
They could bring no pride to me, at over forty, as they had to Joe at
fourteen; for with me there had been the long years between, in which
their lesson had been endlessly repeated to deaf, because unwilling, ears.
How often had I thought my spiritual directors "awful hard" on me,
when, besides telling me to "do this" and "do that," they seemed to
hold me responsible for all the undone things of which no word had
been said ! How often had I sunk into self-pity, when those who loved
me would have helped me to be a man by treating me as one!

No, those words could bring me no pride. Lodge messages are
not sent to feed one's vanity. But they could bring salutary self-
examination and amendment. Inwardly and outwardly they were the

LEAVES FROM A FARM ALMANAC 141

admonition that I needed. How many times a day, as I went about the
Farm, did I not see things which needed to be done, and yet pass on,
leaving them undone — as though they were no business of mine, because
no one had told me to do them? The fallen twigs upon the path I
traversed, the faded blooms on the rose bushes beside it, the weed I
had watched grow tall among the phlox, a tool left out of place, the
box left crooked on the shelf, — was my time so precious that I could
not have paused to right these things as I passed by? It was my
business to right them. Must some one be forever "pointin' out de
wood pile as though I aint never seen one before, or showin' me de
corn needs hoein', as though I didn't know nothin' 'bout corn"?

And in my inner life how many ends of pipe lay across my pathway,
rank rubbish, as well as material once needed or awaiting future use,
but now left untidily littering my mind and psychic nature, causing me
to trip or turn aside whenever I went in or out about the Master's
work? All I needed to do was to "put my han' down an' push it 'bout
a foot one side." Yet there it lay, cumbering the ground, choking the
runway, because, forsooth, no one had told me to remove that special
litter — having told me, day after day and year after year, that all litter
must be removed and never be permitted to accumulate. I was far "too
ol' fo' such kin' o' foolishness." I knew what ought to be done. It
was for me to "go do it."

Why was it that I had not learned the lesson long ago? Why had
I so long refused, where Joe had at once responded? "Sloth," was the
easy answer; but it was a very superficial one, and even as it rose to
my mind I smiled to note how clearly it had been pointed out that I
must look deeper. Sloth is but Tamas, a quality of nature. Like the
inertia of a heavy fly-wheel it resists acceleration. But its resistance
is there to be overcome, and its inertia to be turned into momentum.
It was in Joe, even as in me; indeed it was more natively dominant
in Joe than in me. Among the colours its correspondence is black; and
of all the races of men it is most marked in the negro. It was a negro
who had been made the bearer of this message to me. I must look
deeper than sloth, to see why sloth had not been overcome. "It aint
what all these fellers is lazy. Some of 'em is; but some of 'em aint.
It's jus' what they aint never been taught when dey was young. . . .
They aint got no gumption. They don't notice nothin'. An' what
they does notice they thinks aint none of their business." Why had I
resisted teaching?

I knew the answer, — as a man must know the enemy he has fought
all his life, at whose hands he has suffered fall after fall, injury upon
injury, betrayals innumerable. But always it is a hidden enemy,
working masked and from ambush, or coming to us in the guise of a
friend. Cloak after cloak is stripped from it, yet others remain.
Perhaps only in the last and great initiation shall I see my enemy face

142 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

to face, with no veil between. Perhaps there is no enemy, other than
these living veils woven from the fibre and the tissue of my own being ;
for all evil is in essence maya. Yet there are the veils, and within or
behind them is the enemy who tricks and deludes. It concerns no one
but myself and those who guide me to know what part each veil, each
new disguise, has contributed to my daily failures. But with the message
that Joe had brought me there rose the memory of another, "written
for all disciples," to which the words are added, "Attend you to them."

"Before the eyes can see they must be incapable of tears. Before
the ear can hear it must have lost its sensitiveness."

There lies part of the cause, at least : this curse of self-love, so
sensitive that at a hint of blame all aspiration and forward vision are
lost in self-pity, all apprehension of the truth swamped in the clamorous
surge of self-excuse; the self-love, too sensitive for reality, that substi-
tutes for the will to attain the desire to be deemed and to deem itself
already in possession of attainment. It is strange how long it takes
some of us to master those first four aphorisms of Light on the Path,
those primary rules written at the very entrance of the way. It would
seem so obvious that before one could be a disciple one must become
a man.

There v^as the key to the difference between us : Joe, at fourteen,
had been more of a man than I at more than twice his age. Some day
perhaps, as a reward for their long suffering patience with such as I,
my spiritual directors will be assigned some good, honest black man,
like Joe, instead of the lily-livered specimens who pride themselves upon
the whiteness of their skin. What endless comfort he would be to
them! "We want men to work for us, not mummies! ... Be
vigorous, be strong, not passive ! I get so tired of these humble washed-
out disciples, who have not strength enough to stand on their own feet,
and who simply shut their eyes ecstatically and sit there ! What will
they ever accomplish? Nothing, until they are waked up and shaken
out of that condition."

Yes, Joe was a better man than I. I lit the cigarette he had refused.
He neither "smoked nor chawed," nor was he wholly unconscious of
his virtue. I would not rob him of all superiority. I would continue
to draw the line at "chawing." But I knew "what ought to be done
on this farm," and I purposed to "go do it."

CHEERFUL SOUTHGATE.

Obedience is the courtesy due to Kings. — TENNYSON.

SUFIISM

"/ died as mineral and became a plant,
I died as plant and rose to animal,
I died as animal and I was man.
Why should I fear? When was I less by dying?
Yet once more I shall die as man, to soar
With angels blest; but even from angelhood
I must pass on: all except God doth perish.
When I have sacrificed my angel soul,
I shall become what no mind ere conceived.
Oh, let me not exist! For non-existence
Proclaims in organ tones, 'To Him we shall return.' "

] ALALT/D-Dl N-R.UM I .

EVEN a very limited study of the different religions, ancient and
modern, impresses one almost from the beginning with the
similarity, in many cases the identity, of the fundamental prin-
ciples in all. The radical points of difference are limited, for
the most part, to mere outward form and expression, and where an
evident lack of harmony appears, usually what is needed is to seek
deeper for the underlying unity. Mohammedanism — the teachings of the
Prophet and the interpretation of them by Mohammedan theologians —
is apparently an exception or a contradiction to this rule, and, for the
underlying unity here, we must look to Sufiism, which in many ways
suggests a later effort on the part of the Lodge to counteract the
undesirable tendencies which the Islamitic revelation had engendered.

Sufiism is often called the esotericism of Mohammedanism. It is
above all else a religion of beauty and of love. It has been said that of
the Platonic trinity — wisdom, beauty, goodness — Hinduism laid greatest
stress on wisdom, Christianity laid greatest stress on goodness, while
Sufiism specially emphasized beauty. Fundamentally, of course, these
are all one, for perfection in one direction means perfection in all. The
beauty of earthly things was to the Sufi only a reflection, a reminder, of
the Divine beauty. And love, the rapturous love of the soul for God —
which was really one aspect of the love of God for the soul — was the
means of union, of perfect at-onement with the Divine.

"Love thrilled the chord of love in my soul's lute,
And changed me all to love from head to foot."

Sufiism began toward the end of the eighth century of our era,
more or less as a reaction against certain of the teachings of Mohammed,
and in its earliest form it was characterized chiefly by asceticism and
quietism. The lurid hell and the forbidding conception of God, which
were a part of every Mohammedan's faith, had resulted in a religion of
fear. God, to the average Mohammedan, was a purely transcendent
being, infinite in power, a mighty will, stern, impersonal, unloving. Fear

143

144 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

of hellfire, fear of judgment, fear of the awful grandeur, or the still
more awful wrath of Allah, had reduced the greater part of the true
believers to a state of constant apprehension and dread. There was a
phrase much used in the Mohammedan world, "I take refuge in God."
And to certain kinds of minds this apparently afforded comfort. But
to the earliest Sufis it seemed folly to repeat a mere formula, unless
some corresponding action were taken. They compared such a course
to meeting a lion in the desert, and then, while standing motionless,
saying repeatedly, "I take refuge in that fort." Accordingly, they turned,
though ascetic practices were frowned upon in Islam, to asceticism and
quietism as affording the only possible way out of the difficulty. Their
ideas met a widely felt want, and many adopted their mode of life.
King and beggar alike renounced whatever he had of earthly possessions,
and took to the simple woollen garment of the Sufi.

As might be expected, asceticism in these early days went to fanatical
extremes, and the rigour with which their theories were applied to daily
life is attested by many a story which has been handed down. One such
account tells of a man who, after a long life of piety, failed to escape
hellfire because he owned two shirts, while his neighbour, though pos-
sessed of less merit, was more fortunate because of a scantier wardrobe.
Another story from the early period is indicative not only of the extreme
of asceticism, but also of the real depth of feeling which lay beneath it.
A Sufi teacher is speaking: "After having endured the rigours of
asceticism for forty years, one night I found myself before the doors
and curtains which hide the throne of God. 'For pity's sake/ I exclaimed,
groaning, 'let me pass.' 'O Bayazid,' cried a Voice, 'you still possess a
pitcher and an old cloak ; you cannot pass.' Then I cast away the pitcher
and the cloak, and I heard the Voice again address me, 'O Bayazid, go
and say to those who do not know: "Behold, for forty years I have
practised rigorous asceticism. Well, till I cast away my broken pitcher
and torn cloak, I could not find access to God ; and you, who are entangled
in the ties of worldly interests, how shall you discover Him ?" ' This
view of renunciation underwent a gradual change, and at a later period
it was applied to true poverty of spirit — a renunciation of every interest
which could divert the mind from God. At the same time, a corre-
sponding change took place in the attitude toward worldly possessions :
wealth, when possessed by the Sufi, came to be regarded as a special
gift from God, a shield to hide from the profane the piety of his saints.

• Little by little, out of the early austerity, mysticism developed. In
place of the former abject fear of God, there grew up an implicit
confidence in His goodness and benevolence. "Grant me mercy for all
men," prays one; and then, "I lifted up mine eyes, and I saw that the
Most High was far more inclined to have mercy on His servants than
I." Renunciation, no longer with the paramount idea of escaping retri-
bution and attaining salvation, was practised now for love of God and

SUFIISM 145

with the sole intent to please Him. Instead of mere passive resignation,
there appears genuine acceptance of the Divine will. Humility, self-
lessness, and all the lovelier virtues follow ; and in Rabia, one of the early
and much revered Sufi saints, we find the complete self-abandonment
and lofty devotion of a Saint Teresa of Avila. Life or death, heaven
or hell are alike acceptable, since God made all; what state He decrees
matters not, if He vouchsafe His love and care. "Whence comest thou?"
was asked her one day. "From the other world," she answered. "And
whither goest thou?" "Into the other world." "And what doest thou
in this world?" "I jest with it by eating its bread and doing the works
of the other world in it."

With the third century of Islam, there came a change in the nature
of Sufiism. Concerning the man whose thinking produced the change —
Dhu '1-Nun al-Misri, is the name by which he is best known — compara-
tively little information is available. During his lifetime nothing was
recorded ; a century later a Sufi of prominence visited the village where
he had lived, and gathered from the natives their traditions of his life
and work. He is surrounded by just enough of mystery to suggest that
much is left untold. The son of a Copt or Nubian, he was brought up
in an Egyptian home and spent much of his life in Egypt. For his
education he was sent to the Hijaz, where he studied under an Imam of
rank, and made a profitable contact with the learning and culture of the
day. During all his life in Egypt, he spent much time among the ancient
ruined temples, studying the figures and deciphering the inscriptions. He
was versed in the Greek mysteries, knew the "mystery of the Great
Name" (possessing which, a man, it was said, could dispense with all
other mysteries), and was familiar with the secrets of astrology, alchemy
and other occult sciences. From this time on, Sufiism abounds in ideas
which suggest the influence of other faiths — Christianity, Buddhism,
Gnosticism, Neo-Platonism, Greek, Indian and Persian teachings, all
show striking analogies. Whether this be the result of actual infiltration
from the various sources is doubtful. The probability is, rather, that
the correspondences and analogies are more the result of the universality
of the great spiritual truths underlying all.

Under the influence of Dhu '1-Nun, Sufiism developed into a the-
osophy. He taught that above the knowledge of scientists and learned
men, there is a still higher kind, — the knowledge of the attributes of
unity, which is possessed by those who "see God in their hearts." He
taught also that "true praise of God is absorption of the worshipper in
the object of worship."

From now on, the Sufi's aim and effort was to know God. And to
know Him, he must seek Him in the depths of his own being, for what
is not in man, man cannot know. "Look in your own heart, for the
kingdom of God is within you." In strong contrast to the Mohammedan
conception of Allah — one in essence, qualities, and acts, unique and

10

146 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

separate from all else — there developed the Sufi conception of One Real
Being, immanent in, pervading all things. He dwelt, not on a golden
throne in a distant and splendid heaven, but in the hearts of humble
men. The Sufis found Him in the rippling of water or the songs of
birds ; in the murmuring wind or the crashing thunder. And they turned
to Him with an intimacy of devotion that can only be expressed in their
own figure of the lover and the Beloved. "O my God, I invoke Thee
in public as lords are invoked, but in private as loved ones are invoked.
Publicly I say, 'O my God !' but privately I say, 'O my Beloved !' "
Much of the exquisite lyric poetry of Persia, the natural outpouring of
the devotional ecstasy, employs this figure of the lover and the Beloved,
and, through a complete misunderstanding, has been pronounced, by
certain western critics, sensuous in the extreme. Take, for instance, one
splendid poem on the creation, which represents the Beloved, from all
eternity, unveiling His beauty with no eye but His own to survey it;
desiring that His qualities be displayed in a mirror, He decrees that
Creation, which hitherto "lay cradled in the sleep of non-existence," show
forth His perfections; and thereafter —

"The cypress gave a hint of His comely stature, the rose gave tidings

of His beauteous countenance.
Wherever Beauty peeped out, Love appeared beside it ; wherever Beauty

shone in a rosy cheek, Love lit his torch from that flame.
Wherever Beauty dwelt in dark tresses, Love came and found a heart

entangled in their coils.
Beauty and Love are as body and soul; Beauty is the mine and Love

the precious stone."

In the same way, the simile of wine and the wine cup, as symbolical
of the spirit, abounds in all their poetry; and, through a like misunder-
standing, has won for it the term bacchanalian. The constant possibility
of persecution, and the added fact that the teachings were esoteric and
not to be too openly revealed, are reasons, though only partial reasons,
it is true, for the adoption of this phraseology.

Intimacy of devotion, with the Sufi, meant in no way a belief in
a personal God as that term is usually employed. To lose the self in the
Self was his desire; to come forth from the personal self "as a snake
from its skin," and, having lost the personal, to find the Universal Self,
to become a part of the ocean of Divinity. "Dost thou hear how there
comes a voice from the brooks of running water? But when they reach
the sea they are quiet, and the sea is neither augmented by their in-coming
nor diminished by their out-going."

Pantheism, — in some cases an extreme pantheism, — was, as has
already been suggested, a part of their belief. Ordinarily, it was modified
by the idea that in the world of unification, lover, Beloved, and love are
one. "Thirty years the high God was my mirror," said one Sufi teacher,
"now I am my own mirror — i. e., that which I was I am no more, for

SUFIISM 147

T and 'God' is a denial of the unity of God. Since I am no more, the
high God is His own mirror. Lo, I say that God is the mirror of myself,
for he speaks with my tongue and I have vanished." And the same
thought is expressed by another, in a slightly different way —

"I am He whom I love, and He whom I love is I :
We are two spirits dwelling in one body.
If thou seest me, thou seest Him,
And if thou seest Him, thou seest us both."

This doctrine, when held to be true not only in the world of unifi-
cation but in the external world as well, was so completely in violation
of the orthodox Mohammedan views, that certain of its adherents were
put to death with horrible tortures. For the most part, however, the
Sufis were free from persecution. Their belief was that in God's sight,
all religions are right and acceptable; creed and dogma mattering little,
and the heart being the true criterion.

"Love is where the glory falls
Of Thy face — on convent walls
Or on tavern floors, the same
Unextinguishable flame.

"Where the turbaned anchorite
Chanteth Allah day and night,
Church bells ring the call to prayer
And the Cross of Christ is there."

Among themselves they held several especially interesting tenets, as,
for instance, that there never fails to be, on earth, one great theosophist,
who is, in the nature of things, the true Caliph or representative of God.
He may hold political power, exercising it publicly, in which case the
age becomes illumined. Or he may be what they termed the "mystical
pole," his rule being, perforce, a secret one, in which case the world is
in a state of darkness and unenlightenment. Added to this, they taught
the existence of an invisible hierarchy of saints on which the order of
the world depends. Then there is a whole range of teachings, suggested
by such a statement as that they possessed certain portions of the
Chaldean lore, or that the whirling dance, still performed by the Mevlevi
dervishes, is representative of the circling of the spheres. Outwardly,
however, the Sufis accepted the recognized authorities, embraced the
religion of the Prophet with a completeness varying in the cases of
different individuals, and, for the most part, kept all the outward
observances required of the "faithful," investing them with a new spirit
and meaning.

One view of Sufiism, and a particularly clear and suggestive one,
is contained in the doctrine of the seventy thousand veils, a doctrine
which is common to Gnosticism as well:

"Seventy thousand veils separate Allah, the One Reality, from the

148 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

world of matter and of sense. And every soul passes before his birth
through these seventy thousand. The inner half of these are veils of
light: the outer half, veils of darkness. For every one of the veils of
light passed through, in this journey towards birth, the soul puts off a
divine quality : and for every one of the dark veils, it puts on an earthly
quality. Thus the child is born weeping, for the soul knows its separation
from Allah, the One Reality. And when the child cries in its sleep, it
is because the soul remembers something of what it has lost. Otherwise,
the passage through the veils has brought with it forgetfulness (nisyan) :
and for this reason man is called insdn. He is now, as it were, in prison
in his body, separated by these thick curtains from Allah."

To tear away the veils, and, freeing himself from the prison house
of the body, regain union with the Divine, was the object of the Sufi, —
the goal, distant though it might be, toward which he strove. There is
in their literature, a beautiful reference to "the branch of the narcissus
of union" laid on the hand of hope; — "And seven thousand years have
passed, and that narcissus is still fresh and blooming : never has the hand
of any hope attained thereto." It is suggestive of that phrase from
Light on the Path, "You will enter the light, but you will never touch
the flame."

The Sufis, at their best, were little interested in philosophical and
metaphysical speculation. Later men occupied themselves in this way,
and also made an effort to reconcile the pure Sufi teachings, the
Mohammedan traditions, and their own speculations. But the earlier
Sufis devoted their attention, instead, to working out for themselves
a science of living, a school of saintship. Contrary to the custom of
Islam, monasticism became a part of their system, together with many
minor religious observances that were foreign to the teachings of the
Prophet. The Sufi was regarded as a traveller on the Path. The novice
in Sufiism was known as a murid. On entering the Path, he was first
subjected to a period of discipline, lasting three years (there are instances
of a seven-year period) ; the first devoted to serving others, regarding
himself as the servant of all men; the second to service of God, cutting
himself oif entirely from all selfish interests ; the third to watching over
his own heart, endeavouring to dismiss from his mind every consideration
but aspiration and communion. During this probation, he was required
to live the life of an ordinary mortal in every particular. He was not
encouraged to turn away from the lot to which he had been born, for
true religion lay in the right performance of duty, and only when the
obligations of duty had been fulfilled, could revelation be looked for. He
must exemplify, in his daily living, charity, sympathy, forgiveness toward
all; self-sacrifice, brotherliness (no Sufi was worthy the name who did
not genuinely regard the whole human family as one great brotherhood).
And his consideration must extend not only to his human brothers, but
to every living creature. Eradication of self-will and absolute trust in
God were further requirements.

SUFIISM 149

The discipline was such as would aid him in ridding himself of all
evil thoughts and desires; extricating himself from all selfish interests,
and purifying mind and heart. "All self abandon, ye who enter here,"
was written over the gate of Repentance. And elsewhere, "Until thou
ignorest thyself body and soul, thou canst not know the object which
deserves thy love." And as he went through the process of purgation,
he was at the same time "irrigated" with the good influences resulting
from his kindly services to others, and strengthened by training in the
loftiest moral principles and most sublime ideals. To help him on the
Path, he was given a pir or past-master in Sufiism, to whom he gave
absolute obedience. This master led him in the Path shown in turn by
his master, and so on up to the Prophet himself. The master acted not
only as instructor, but as adviser and guide, helping him immeasurably
by his own piety and spiritual strength. In the final stages of the way,
the master "threw a magnetic inspiration" on the opened mind of his
disciples.

There is an analysis of the Path which comes from one of the oldest
Sufi treatises now extant. The close analogy which it bears to the
Purgative, Illuminative, and Unitive way of the Christian mystics will
at once be apparent. It states that there are seven stages in the Way
of the Sufi: 1, repentance; 2, abstinence; 3, renunciation; 4, poverty;
5, patience ; 6, trust in God ; 7, satisfaction. Each of these, one growing
out of the other, the Sufi must pass through; and each is open to him,
his progress depending entirely on his own effort. As a concomitant
to the seven stages, there is a similar chain of "states," ten in number:
meditation, nearness to God, love, fear, hope, longing, intimacy, tran-
quillity, contemplation, and certainty. The states he may experience only
as they are granted to him, for they are gifts from God over which he
has no least control. The utmost he can do is to make of himself a
safe repository for such as are vouchsafed him.

Great importance was, of course, attached to meditation, and dhikr,
as the first stage was called, was extensively practised. There is a
description of the latter, taken from the work of Ghazali, a compara-
tively late Sufi writer, which will be interesting and possibly suggestive
to anyone who has made an effort to practise a similar form. He begins
by explaining that the Seeker must sit alone, effacing from mind and
heart all thought of everything save God, the Most High. "Then, as
he sits in solitude, let him not cease saying continuously with his tongue,
'Allah, Allah/ keeping his thought on it. At last he will reach a state
where the motion of his tongue will cease, and it will seem as though
the word flowed from it. Let him persevere in this until all trace of
motion is removed from his tongue, and he finds his heart persevering
in the thought. Let him still persevere until the form of the word, its
letters and shape, is removed from his heart, and there remains the idea
alone, as though clinging to his heart, inseparable from it. So far, all is

150 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

dependent upon his will and choice ; but to bring the mercy of God does
not stand in his will or choice. He has now laid himself bare to the
breathings of that mercy, and nothing remains but to await what God
will open to him, as God has done after this manner to prophets and
saints. If he follows the above course, he may be sure that the light of
the Real will shine out in his heart. At first unstable, like a flash of
lightning, it turns and returns; though sometimes it hangs back. And
if it returns, sometimes it abides and sometimes it is momentary. And
if it abides, sometimes its abiding is long, and sometimes short."

This is, of course, only preparatory to the higher stages of meditation
and contemplation in which the "vision of the heart" becomes operative
— for only the eye of the heart can see God — and the soul enters into
union with the Divine. Of this final rapt state of the contemplative,
there has been written an exquisite allegory of the butterflies, a picture
of the soul's rapturous longing for God. The butterflies have gathered
in conclave, filled with a great yearning to unite themselves with the
candle flame. After consulting together, one of their number is sent
to discover for them what the flame is like. Flying swiftly, he
approaches near to where a candle sheds its beams in the darkness, and
having seen the light returns in haste. But his message fails to convince
his hearers. Another butterfly is sent forth. This one draws so near
to the candle, that the tips of his soft wings are caught by the flame,
yet he, too, on his return, can satisfy only partially the longing of his
fellows. Straightway, a third rises on swift wing, and he, drawing near
to the light, is so overcome with the ecstasy of his love, that he casts
himself into the fire and is consumed, his body turned to the same
glowing colour as the flame itself. His companions seeing that the flame
has communicated to him some of its own quality, agree that he has
learned what they all long to know, but he alone can understand.

It need scarcely be said that Sufiism was a life, not a creed or a
sect. This being the case, it is impossible here to present it in its fullness,
but only to give one aspect of it, since there must have been as many
kinds of Sufiism as there were men who lived it. It had, of course, its
less pleasing aspects. Many failed, far short of the goal ; in some cases
madness resulted; in many cases psychism of various kinds. During
recent centuries, its followers have been less and less concerned with
moral elevation and spiritual progress, and have turned more and more
to outward observances and the following of "masters" who ply their
trade for pay — a mere caricature of true Sufiism. But however ugly
the dead form may be, the life and spirit that once animated it were
a thing of beauty and loveliness. And in reviewing its development,
perhaps its greatest significance lies in the fact that that life, to-day, is
our own for the asking, open to every member of the Society who
desires it. And for us, the lesson that it points is (to borrow the gist
of a Sufi saying), be not content to study but do the works of holy men.

JULIA CHICKERING.

THE FEAR OF DEATH

WHEN the religious man says "I am not afraid to die," he
means exactly what he says, but he does not mean that he
regards death lightly. On the contrary he faces the thought
of death with a reverential awe which is akin to fear, and
this is well, for it is a part of that "Fear of the Lord which is the
beginning of wisdom." This reverential awe grows deeper with the
life of prayer and of spiritual aspiration, and on its flood tide the soul
should be swept into the presence of its Maker.

But there is another attitude toward death which is the very
antithesis of this holy fear — a sort of black nervous horror, which drives
its victims to a shuddering ignoring of death's imminence, to a post-
ponement of all preparation for it until too late, and, too often, to a
practical as well as a theoretical doubt of the Love at the heart of life.
This bastard terror is natural to our flesh and blood, it gnaws like a
worm at the courage of the race, it is pitiful and dangerous beyond
words, — to leave it unattacked were to discount Calvary.

The subject piques because one deals here with an incalculable thing.
Humanity cannot be simply divided into the sheep and the goats — the
fearless and the fearful. All obvious logic is defied. Should all
religious people be brave, and the irreligious cowards? But it is not
so. How logical, for instance, if those who only ask to eat, drink, and
be merry should swerve from a veiled angel in the path. But most
of them do not. They escape by looking the other way — until their
moment comes. They refuse to be bothered. They say "time enough"
and "sufficient unto the day" and things like that. If one rose from
the dead in their interests, it would not avail. No, this fear lurks in
silent places; it haunts the very young and the very old; it poisons
the lives of the inexpressive, the lonely, and the timid, of the Master's
potential but strayed lovers.

One could not dare to call oneself a student of the Divine Wisdom
and lack the persuasion that things will finally be well with us — for
God is Love; nor the perception that they are not well yet — for He
is Justice. By sin came death into the world and the cup must be
drained, and drained again, till every jot and tittle of the law be fulfilled ;
and yet — is there not triumph ? And if so — who triumphs ? Who dares
to challenge death for its sting, the grave for its victory? Who dares
to shout "Praise be to God Who giveth us the victory"? If the antidote
to fear be faith, then the saints are conquerors here by divine right;
their vision, born of slowly garnered inner prescience, cannot fail them.
They triumph not only in life, but through that hour of mortal strife —
"that masterful negation and collapse of all that makes me man" (into

151

152 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

Thy Hands, O Lord, into Thy Hands!), while they move (oh swiftly!
swiftly!) to where stands waiting the "great Angel of the Agony," and
thence "dart with the intemperate energy of love (ah! grant them this!)
to those dear feet" where purgatory, that solace of the redeemed, awaits
them. No ! you cannot phase the saints. For His sake they are willing
to die all day long if you like, for who shall separate them from the
love of God? Not Death — nor any other creature. The fear of the
saints is braided through and through with golden hope, and Death is
swallowed up in Victory. "Praised be the Lord for our Sister, the
Death of the body."

But after all there are not so very many saints, but a great multitude
of those cryptically irrational people who count themselves among the
religious, who are "members in good standing" of one church or another,
who subscribe punctually to "the resurrection of the body and the life
everlasting," and who repudiate, with rage born of terror, any suggestion
that they will probably die some day. The most tragic figures in the
house of life are the aborted saints — they invoke so much and use so
little. In shocking company they both believe and tremble. One is
irresistibly reminded of the story of the two ladies, one of whom, greatly
to the distaste of the other, wished to discuss the after life. The
harassed one, failing to change the subject, finally said, "If you insist,
of course I believe that we all go to everlasting bliss, but I wish you
would not drag in such unpleasant topics."

One summer this writer lived next door to a house in which a young
girl was slowly dying of tuberculosis. Everyone recognized the fact,
including the poor child herself, but utter panic possessed the entire
family. They refused to admit the clergyman on the ground that "it
would put ideas into her head" ; but day by day the writer was hurriedly
sent for, implored to "speak to her," and then as hurriedly dismissed
in their demoralization of terror, — "No, wait, she is too frightened
to-day"; or "She is worse to-day, come again to-morrow"; or "She is
better to-day, we will wait a little." Then the last day came and it was
too late. The questions in her beautiful haunted eyes can never be
forgotten.

Contrast with this the little children of a household ruled by the
Divine Wisdom, who run to their mother, after cross-examining the
new gardener, with "Oh, Mother, isn't the new man funny — he doesn't
think it is nice to die." This episode is particularly reassuring, because
one can but suspect that much of this panic fear in later life is traceable
to a mishandling of the subject where little children are concerned.

Fighting men and, in varying degrees, the poets, would seem to
have some insight here. Death as a subject has always allured the poets,
who have treated of it from every imaginable aspect, most of them
quite foreign to the purpose of this article, which intends itself for a
plea that death should be prepared for with humble faith and met

THE FEAR OF DEATH 153

with humble courage. They have sometimes availed themselves of the
possibilities of the subject by falling below its possibilities, and have
disembarrassed themselves of a deal of subjective rhyming — the
magazines teem with young poets announcing the sentiments they
consider appropriate to their own demise — often done with really
beautiful and poignant art. There is also much wilful choosing of the
stuff of morbidity to work with. Maeterlinck's Death of Tintagel
jumps to the mind, in which a group of women prowl about a dim stage
for hours, excitedly whispering to each other in their eternal passings
and repassings that "the old Queen" (Death) is about to seize a new
victim — that presently someone is going to die! It is the reductio ad
absurdum; one feels after an hour or two of it like Talleyrand, with the
young man who argued that he must live, — Je ne vois pas la necessite.
Still, on the whole, the poets ring true, and the volume of tonic as
well as consolatory poetry about death is as large as it is splendid. It
was a poet who said,

"No array of terms can say how much I am at peace
about God, and about death."

It was a poet who prayed,

"Let me taste the whole of it, fare like my peers,
The heroes of old."

And a poet who prayed,

"My wages taken and in my heart some late lark singing,
Let me be gathered to the quiet west,
The sunset splendid and serene — Death."

While poets have always known that heaven was for lovers' meetings —
"Would that I were with thee emparadised,
White Angels around Christ;
That by the borders of the eternal sea,
Singing, I too might be."

The War has thrown strong light on another aspect of all this.
Just as we note inexplicable fear in one direction, so we find inexplicable
courage in another. Given a Cause, given discipline, and the young men
of the world go laughing out, and "their lives are in their hands for any
man to take." Is it that, for the moment, under the spur of the splendid
necessity, the Angel takes possession, and saint and soldier share the
same vision? Listen to Masefield telling how the English sailed from
the Greek port, out to Gallipoli :

"Ship after ship moved slowly out of harbor . . . and the
beauty and the exaltation of the youth upon them made them like sacred
things as they moved away. These men . . . had said good-bye to
home that they might offer their lives in the cause we stand for. In
a few hours at most, as they well knew, perhaps a tenth of them would

154 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

have looked their last on the sun. . . . But this was but the end
they asked, the reward they had come for, the unseen cross upon the
breast. All that they felt was a gladness of exultation that their young
courage was to be used. They went like kings in a pageant to the
imminent death. . . . As they passed on their way to the sea their
feeling that they had done with life welled up in those battalions; they
cheered till the harbor rang with cheering . . . till all the life in
the harbor was giving thanks that it could go to death rejoicing. All
was beautiful in that gladness of men about to die, but the most moving
thing was the greatness of their generous hearts. . . . No one who
heard this tumult of cheering will ever forget it, or think of it unshaken.
It broke the hearts of all there with pity and pride; it went beyond the
guard of the English heart."

Yes, the saints know, the fighting men know, the poets know.
Sometimes we have all three in one. Take Joyce Kilmer's letters from
the other side, and search them, — you shall find a spirituality so woven
into the fibre of the man that his rollicking fun, his utter love of life
and all life's gifts, his utter willingness to give them up, are all one
thing. Then turn to the account of William Blake's last hours — the
poet with the mystic vision. Read how he sat propped up in bed at the
last, advising his wife as to her future, but between times singing and
shouting great songs of delight that he had been sent for:

"Good-bye, proud world, I'm going home !"

Sometimes it is in the most astounding places that one encounters
perception of what death may mean and how it may be faced. At the
risk of straining credulity, it is a temptation to tell how this was once
done at the New York Hippodrome. Some years ago that place of
entertainment could boast a stage manager with an imagination, a sense
of beauty, a vision. It may do so still, but anticlimaxes are disagreeable
— it is wise not to risk one. This particular time, when the last elephant
had ambled off and the last clown had followed it, beauty came into
its own, death was shown us, death — heroic, uplifted, robbed of its sting,
and shorn of its victory. By some clever stage illusion, the tank used
in the final tableau became a vast body of still water. Some bedizened
Oriental potentate (presumably) sat enthroned above; below him the
wide flights of steps terracing to the water's edge were thronged with
the flower of his kingdom — a great multitude of splendid youth. Their
number does not matter — the point is they looked like "ten thousand
times ten thousand" — young men and women in robes of white and silver.
They were marking time to music, and laughing and singing for delight
of their sacrifice, for they were about to die. At a signal they marched
in close platoons to the water's edge, then into the water — to knees,
to breast, to singing lips, and so down under, as the throngs pressed
on behind them. There was no break in the gallant laughter, no pause
in the gay song, no faltering step, no hint of refraining in all the

THE FEAR OF DEATH 155

shining ranks. We had forgotten in those days of peace how high-
heartedly men could die; had forgotten that it could be done "heads up,
eyes right!" Never mind the great wooden Hippodrome, never mind
the trick which underlay the illusion (some idiot behind was explaining
the theory of the diving bell), never mind the silly legend, — "theirs but
to do and die" : that was the legend ; nothing else mattered. If the
illusion had been less perfect, if there had been one shirking eye, one
faltering step, one hint of unwilling sacrifice, the thing would have
turned to farce before us and we must have laughed. But no one
laughed: death was there and these youths were fain of it, and five
thousand people held their breath with the splendor of it. Only a circus
thriller, it is true, but ennobled by its perfect discipline and its gleam
of intuition.

In his Varieties of Religious Experience, William James has this
to say: "Mankind's common instinct for reality has always held the
world to be essentially a theatre for heroism. In heroism, we feel, life's
supreme mystery is hidden. We tolerate no one who has no capacity
whatever for it in any direction. On the other hand, no matter what
a man's frailties otherwise may be, if he be willing to risk death, and
still more if he suffer it heroically, in the service he has chosen, the
fact consecrates him forever. Inferior to ourselves in this or that way,
if yet we cling to life, and he is able 'to fling it away like a flower'
as caring nothing for it, we account him in the deepest way our born
superior. Each of us in his own person feels that a high-hearted
indifference to life would expiate his shortcomings." "Greater love hath
no man than this."

It is a curious subject ; in any light only small corners are illumined.
We talk about "the instinct to live," but Metchnikoff, the French
scientist, tells us that in the old the "instinct to die" is the normal;
and yet how seldom we see it. We talk about joie de vivre, but life is
clung to most determinedly by those who have none. A physician in
charge of a Catholic Home for the Aged says that he has never seen
such frenzied clinging to mere existence as on the part of these poor
things who have so little to live for. The Sisters in charge welcome
each approaching death with smiling cheerfulness — here is one more soul
departing life, fortified by the rites of the Church ; one more bed ready
for another patient. Not so the poor old people themselves, who beseech
for "something" to stave off the dread moment. Zest of life would
seem to have little or nothing to do with it. Perhaps the spirit of
adventure is a factor here? This spirit finds it difficult to believe that
life can cease — and here is the Great Adventure. The saints, who are
life's adults, apply this spiritually and have the best of it, as usual.
But life's little children, of any age, do not like bedtime.

156

THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

An Angel speaks: It is bedtime — come, children!

No, no, we are not ready — come back by and by.

/ am afraid of the dark !

And / want my teddy bear!

An Angel speaks: Come, children; it is time — a bath for all, a
whipping for most, and then rest, — sleep — dreams!

It is the end — we shall not wake!

Twice two are five — I learned it.

An Angel speaks: Well, well, never mind now; it is time to sleep
— so much to do to-morrow.

To sleep! to dream! Perchance to dream?

An Angel speaks : Assuredly to dream — dream true at last! Many
mansions — stately castles, tiny doll's houses — dream true!

Qeansed at last from stains of work and play, asleep at last; the
angels bend over the tired little children of earth and then draw back
in reverent awe. Among them does One pace and pause? One with
scarred feet and tender eyes? Ah, surely yes, for the weary tear-
stained faces bloom into a smiling peace that passeth understanding.
"Sleep ! Rest ! Dream true ! And try again to-morrow. Lo, I am
with you always, even to the end of the world." S.

O ye souls that desire to walk in the midst of consolation and
security, if only ye knew how acceptable to God is suffering for His love,
and how great a means it is to arrive at every other spiritual good, ye
would never seek for consolation in anything, but ye would rather rejoice
when ye bear the cross after your Lord. — ST. JOHN OF THE CROSS.

WHY I JOINED THE
THEOSOPHICAL SOCIETY

TWO years, measured by ordinary standards, do not seem a very
long time. The average man's method of thought and of living
does not change materially during that period, and his point of
view has not altered sufficiently to make it difficult to recall his
state of mind and heart, two, five and even ten years previously. But
when a man comes into contact with a vital force which takes possession
of him heart and soul, his entire conception of the meaning of life is
transformed from a dead, or at most an inert thing, into an inspiring,
vibrant, glorious vision of infinite beauty, strength, and joy. If he may
not presume to liken himself to a butterfly that has burst its chrysalis and
left the dead shell forever, he can at least think of himself as a prisoner
released from his cell, to whom the world was never so beautiful, the sky
so blue, the air so soft and balmy, the sunshine so glorious; to whom
God's handiwork seemed never so lovely, nor God Himself so kind and
good. After tasting these new and unaccustomed delights, the man's
thoughts turn in loving gratitude to the influence which has brought
release from his darkness and ignorance, and entrance into the light of
the new and beautiful world he has found. When a man has received so
great a boon he feels impelled to express something of the gratitude that
is in his heart. While the causes which led up to his deliverance are very
vivid in his mind, he finds it difficult, if not impossible, to picture to
himself his former pitiable state, for, having been permitted to catch a
glimpse of the Eternal, he is indeed living in a new world ; nothing appears
the same, nothing is the same, unless it be his lower nature, of which the
awakening of his higher nature has made him painfully aware, and which
as yet is but little changed, but which he now knows it is his duty to set
about changing and transforming.

Reared by God-fearing parents in a strict, orthodox manner, I "joined
the Church" at sixteen years of age. This step was decidedly against my
inclinations, as I did not consider myself "good enough," but, being
strongly urged by my parents, who explained that it simply meant that
I desired to live a better life, "accepted Christ as my Saviour," and was
willing to confess Him before men, I consented, partly in deference to
their wishes, and partly because of a desire to escape the consequences of
sin — eternal damnation. (Oh, the scores of sermons on this subject
through which I wriggled and writhed in my youth!) That "Christ died
for our sins" meant to me that He died to save us from the consequences
of sin, and I was given to understand that all one had to do to be "saved,"
was to "believe on the Lord Jesus Christ" by "accepting" Him and the

157

158 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

sacrifice which He made for our redemption. (How repugnant to the
ideals of Theosophy is such "belief" without action ! For, "this idea of
passing one's whole life in moral idleness, and having one's hardest work
and duty done by another — whether God or man — is most degrading to
human dignity.") In my earlier years I was the victim of much intoler-
ance toward others whose form of religious belief differed from my own.
This was superseded in later years by what I flattered myself was a
broad-minded tolerance. Hell became a myth, or at most a place reserved
for incorrigibles ; life was an easy-going sort of an adventure ; the sins of
others were still hideous — my own were small things, as men go, and I
was quite as good a Christian as most people who professed to be such.
My religious life consisted mainly in attendance at numerous services,
and taking an active part in Church and Sunday-school work; later, in
social work with boys' clubs and the like.

Meanwhile, I began to hear the word "Theosophy" mentioned by
one near and dear to me, who rather timidly informed me of having
attended meetings and, finally, of having joined the T. S. I would have
none of it; it was all queer and "spooky." Occultism meant black arts
and nothing else. I listened condescendingly until one statement arrested
my attention : "A member of the T. S. can believe what he likes, need
have no belief at all, in fact, 'all members are expected to accord to the
beliefs of others the same tolerance which they desire for their own.' "
This interested me, and I listened with increasing attention to further
remarks dropped from time to time, seemingly casual, almost careless.
(I have since learned that they were most carefully and prayerfully
considered.) Respect for the source of the crumbs of information let fall,
was heightened immeasurably by a remarkable change in my. personal
surroundings and in the atmosphere of my home. "There may be some-
thing in this Theosophy business, after all," I thought; for I was
beginning to be conscious that I lacked something in my life that I could
not afford to be without, and to feel a sort of envy of this earnest striving
towards an ideal with a faith and devotion which I knew I did not possess.
Then the Great War came. Deeply stirred, but still confused as to the
inner meaning of it all, I finally attended a meeting of the T. S., and was
at once profoundly impressed by the attitude towards the war taken by
the speakers at this meeting. Their words were so right, they rang so
true, disclosing a wisdom, insight, and courage which commanded instant
and deep admiration. Later, I discovered that their attitude towards the
war was but one aspect of the vision of the leaders of the Society into
the meaning and purpose of life; that the war was simply an outward
manifestation of the perpetual inner conflict between the forces of good
and evil. The keenest disappointment of my life occurred when I was
debarred from entering active service in the war. Men who were eager
to enter the fray, but who had found that their duty lay in remaining at
home, must have been immensely comforted and encouraged, as I was,

WHY I JOINED THE THEOSOPHICAL SOCIETY 159

by the theosophical statement that it was the duty as well as the privilege
of each one of us to aid the cause of the Masters in the war by doing
everything in our power to combat the forces of evil in the world,
beginning with those within our own natures.

At the meetings of the Society, which I now attended regularly,
I listened to sound common-sense in respect to right thinking and right
living; wise and convincing answers to questions of every conceivable
kind; evidence of deep spiritual insight; a loving sympathy and a desire
to help others to gain something of that insight through their own efforts
to conquer their lower and build up their higher nature. Then I found
the most illuminating, practical, and helpful suggestions in articles in
the THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY as to how to go about doing the things
I had heard discussed in the meetings, and I soon learned that the
members were bending all the energy of their being upon putting these
principles into practice, and that they were consequently speaking from
a knowledge born of experience. The true test of any belief or system
of thought lies in its effect upon the life. Having been privileged to
observe the effects of the application of theosophical principles upon
the lives of a number of members of the Society, I perceived that this
test was being systematically, unremittingly applied with a devotion and
concentration that was a revelation. The secret lay in the development
of the inner, or spiritual, nature and life of man, which was nothing
more or less than practical occultism, — my bugbear of a few months
before. Thus I became aware that I had come into contact with a
group of people who had a philosophy of life which could and did
explain the many riddles which I had long ago ceased trying to solve,
attributing them to the "inscrutable workings of Providence" which no
man could fathom. It became clear to me that, apart from Theosophy,
there is no scientific or accurate knowledge accessible in the West, and
no conception of what real occultism means; that the much-vaunted
"civilization" of the West was the product of a development of the
purely material aspect of the universe in all lines of study, research or
other human endeavor; and that a smug complacency over the material
progress attained had buried deep the consciousness of eternal truths
which were so well-known and understood centuries ago in the East.
Also, I learned that "Theosophy is not a body of dogmas, for truth
cannot be cramped into formulas and dogmas." It is "practically a
method, intellectually an attitude, ethically a spirit, and religiously a
life." It "would have each man follow his own highest light till it leads
him to his own Master and his own immortality." The theosophical
ideal opens a wealth of thought and inspiration, stupendous in its
grandeur and power ; reveals as the only means of true spiritual progress
the path of discipleship and all that it entails of conquest of self and
the elimination of everything that hampers the lifting of the soul to the
Light and holding it there steadfastly ; provides a motive that transcends

160 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

self in the desire that the Masters of Wisdom shall be served — those
Elder Brothers who are yearning so passionately that man shall recognize
and claim his divinity, shall learn and obey the law that all life is one
and tends to one goal, — union with the Divine. Thus the Society seeks
to form the nucleus of a Universal Brotherhood of humanity upon the
spiritual or occult plane, whose members strive and long for the salvation
of the race through this union. How different is this ideal from the
false and perverted ideas of brotherhood so prevalent in our day!

There had come into my life what seemed an insurmountable
difficulty — a stone wall — in connection with something which it was
obviously my duty to attempt to solve. This was a cross, a misfortune,
which in my blindness and ignorance of the workings of Karma — the
Divine Law, "poetic justice" — I was unable to understand, still less to
cope with. Finally I sought advice and help from one of the older
members of the T. S., whose marvellous sympathy, wisdom, and insight,
re-enforced by an astonishingly generous offer of practical help and
co-operation in the solution of my problem, I shall never forget or cease
to be grateful for. Time has proved that the solution of the difficulty
was the only one possible; further, that it could not have been made,
or the means for working it out furnished by anyone else in the whole
wide world! What in my ignorance I had deemed a cross, like all
crosses when we accept them, has proved to be the greatest blessing, with
infinitely far-reaching results. Upon this occasion, which was during
the period when the mind and heart were still shackled by the habit of
years, blinding one to the vision or restraining one from embracing it,
a remark was made which disclosed the principle underlying the motive
for my having been so miraculously blessed. It is, I think, one of the
corner-stones upon which the whole teaching rests: "Whenever there
is a real need or hunger of the soul, it is always met."

H.

Tribulation is the King's highway, beaten and tracked with the sacred
steps of the Master, and with a countless number of Saints, who all of
them have made their affliction the degrees of their glory. — CASSIAN.

SOAMES AND THE UNIVERSE

SOAMES was alone with the Universe. Soames was desperately
lonely. There was so much to do, and he, alone, to do it all.
So great was his task that, in large and small matters alike, he
was frequently forced to neglect some duty. Despite all his
energy, international policies would go off the track. Despite his advice,
his mother-in-law would buy bonnets which were unsuitable. It pained
Soames to see the consequences of his unavoidable neglect. So many
things which should be done well, were done poorly. It was certainly
impossible for one human man to do it all alone. There were times
when Soames could not sleep from keen realization of the crying needs
of the Universe, and of his own utter inadequacy to rise to all the calls
for his intervention. Soames was conscientiously courageous, however.
Soames did his best to do what he knew he should do.

Soames found it hard for one human brain to know all that should
be known in order that he might do his work. Here and there he
turned eagerly for knowledge: now dipping into science; now into
philosophy; again into religion. Yet, all the time Soames felt the hope-
lessness of this endeavour. Despite the recognition of the need that
there was for him to know all, that he might the better serve, he could
not succeed in knowing all. He had to neglect the Universe. He
regretted the necessity, for he saw what was happening to the Universe
from his inability to meet each emergency. He saw the suffering and
errors from his unavoidable neglect of his stupendous task.

In time the Universe itself also recognized his neglect. Then it
rose in indignation. It smote Soames.

When the Universe acts, it takes no half measures. Soames
discovered, as a penalty for his inability to run the Universe, that his
own little business jealously resented his not giving himself up to it,
just as if it were the Universe itself. In other words, Soames' business
failed. His family, as Soames recognized, sensed their own desperate
need for his specific attention. Because he was unable to give it to them,
they too, in narrow selfishness, turned from him in their disappointment
over not receiving his exclusive attention. This recognition of the
impossibility of his responding to their need spread from his family to
his friends. Soames discovered that he was unpopular ; even not beloved
of those closest to him. Yet the Universe needed him so desperately
that he accepted his martyrdom.

Soames was undismayed and courageous. He fought on to help
the Universe, despite these trivial, yet trying, failures. Soames did his
best, but the Universe was a jealous mistress. Each single phase of it
unmistakably was calling for his exclusive attention. He could not

161

11

162 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

satisfy all. This was not understood. The time came when Soames
felt the bitterness of ingratitude from the Universe. He admitted
complete failure.

Soames was truly alone in the Universe. He felt so utterly alone
that he even felt outside of it. This gave Soames time and opportunity
to observe the Universe; even himself. As he observed, fragments of
old studies came back to him. For the first time, Soames began to
wonder if he really was the sole source of inspiration in the Universe;
its only hope; its one dependence.

Soames still remembers how this startling thought first came to
him. He had been sitting at home for several days. He had been
facing his responsibility to the Universe for not having done what he
should have done. Meanwhile his wife had been urging him to go forth
and make money, because butcher and baker and candlestick maker were
growing unpleasantly urgent that their bills should be paid. Soames
had attempted to make the dear woman understand. Patiently he had
tried to show her that he was not blameworthy, merely because the
Universe had resented his utter inability to be all things to all men in
all ways. Mrs. Soames could not understand. She became even annoy-
ingly persistent. Soames took refuge with a file of QUARTERLIES.
They had been part of the reading he had undertaken in the days
when he was seeking to equip himself to rise to his grave and great
responsibilities. For a time this re-reading strengthened Soames' concept
of the Universe and of his own importance therein. As he went on
reading, however, an uneasy something arose in him, which, in his earlier
and salad days, Soames would have called "conscience." Whatever it
was, it decided him to take pity upon his wife. However childish her
point of view, he would try to enter into it to soothe her. He would
take her into the Universe with him, he decided, so he began considering
how she would regard the Universe.

"If a man really comprehends the Universe, he should comprehend
anything therein." Thus Soames argued to himself. Therefore, he felt,
he should comprehend his wife's point of view; even try to comply
with it. "To a woman's mind her family is the Universe. Naturally
she feels they deserve exclusive attention. So be it!"

Soames rose from his chair and went into the next room. "Well,
Matilda," he said, "if you really feel that it is more important that I
should devote myself to my own family rather than to helping my
fellowmen, who need me so, I will go right down town and see
Rawlinson. He told me he would like to have me go to work for him.
It will prevent my doing much that should be done. Still, if you feel
that it is right for me to sacrifice myself and others, I will be glad to
do anything to stop your being so unhappy. I find I cannot do the
thinking that I should do, while you are so unhappy, so I am going
right down town."

SOAMES AND THE UNIVERSE 163

"Sylvanus, I am so glad," cried Mrs. Soames, "and do you know,
I am old-fashioned. I do not believe that the Lord wants you to try
to do His work and to fulfil His obligations, and not to do your own
and fulfil yours."

Soames' second test of his intention to sacrifice himself was to keep
silent. He could, so easily, have proved to his wife that his real duty
and obligation was to the Universe.

Soames saw Rawlinson and went to work. In his bitterness
towards the ingratitude of the Universe, Soames decided that he would
turn his back upon it to punish it. He devoted himself exclusively to
the interests of the Soames family. Time went on. Mrs. Soames wore
new dresses. The children wore whole shoes. Soames' equity in the
house, into which he had moved, steadily grew.

Soames even forgot the Universe. Nevertheless Soames prospered.
More than that, Soames became prosperous. People looked up to him.
His family were proud of him. He became popular. He was urged
to run for alderman. He refused. He said he would be glad to help
any good movement, but that a man's first duty lay in doing his own
duty. He said he was not yet in a position to take time from his family
needs to help the public.

One night there came in the mail for Soames the cancelled mortgage
of his house. As he sat alone in his comfortable study, and looked at
the mortgage, Soames thought of the Universe.

Suddenly Soames realized that he had once more discovered the
Universe. More than that : Soames found that the Universe is controlled
by loving wisdom, and that when a man bows his head to the yoke and
pulls loyally down the furrow, the Universe rewards the effort.

Soames went down stairs to where his wife was sitting. "Do you
know, Matilda," he said, "I have made a discovery. Since the Universe
is infinite, every part of it must contain the whole. The duty that a
man owes to the Universe is done when he does his own duty."

"Sylvanus," said Mrs. Soames, "you have certainly done your duty.
You have made us all happy, and I do not know any more popular man."

"I am glad you feel that way," said Soames, "because I am so
happy myself that I like to have others share it." There was a moment's
silence. Then, suddenly, Mrs. Soames said:

"Have you ever stopped to think, Sylvanus, how much happier and
more prosperous we have been since you put the Golden Rule into
operation ?"

"Just what do you mean by that?" asked Soames, feeling puzzled,
because he could see no connection in what his wife said.

"I mean since you gave up what you wanted to do, and went down
to see Mr. Rawlinson, just because it was what I wanted you to do for
the sake of the children."

164 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

"I don't see," said Soames, "what that has to do with the Golden
Rule?"

"Why, Sylvanus, dear, don't you know that for years you wanted
everybody to sacrifice themselves for you, and it was not until you
sacrificed yourself for others that our luck turned?"

"M-M-M," murmured Soames, "that makes me think of two sen-
tences that I have just found in the QUARTERLY : 'Everything is founded
upon sacrifice. God set the example when he created the Universe.' "

"Well," said Mrs. Soames, "you ought to feel satisfied at last,
because doesn't that make you a partner with God?"

Soames went to sleep that night feeling that he was no longer alone
in the Universe, but a part of it.

SYLVANUS SOAMES.

In the prayer of rapture, man is effaced from self, so that he is not
conscious of his body, nor of things outward and inward. From these he
is rapt, journeying first to his Lord, then in his Lord. If it occur to him
that he is effaced from self it is a defect. The highest state is to be
effaced from effacement. — GHAZZALI.

POST WAR PROBLEMS

LABOUR AND THE CHURCH
A WORKMAN'S RETROSPECT

I.
«4 ii ND you will pray for the Church ; that He may divinely enkindle,

/\ and strengthen and guide it."

± V These words, as nearly as I remember them, and simple

enough in themselves — were yet brimful of inner and outer
meaning to me, when I recalled them, together with qualifying and
associate sentences, as I slowly left the Church that Sunday morning:
my mind filled with the morning's theme and with a new sense of worship
in my heart.

Our thoughts had been turned to post-war problems — "recon-
struction." Pre-turned, perhaps I should say, as the end was not then
in sight. It was about the time when the second series of great Marne
battles were being fought ; when Paris was for the second time in danger
of becoming a German stronghold — and the key-city to German world-
dominion; when we, here at home, had either to face the possibility of
a German invasion — German pillage, brutality, filth, and outrage upon
our own soil — or to send to Europe hurriedly, in greater numbers, the
fittest of our sons.

Some of the worshippers had doubtless been thinking of this. The
war and its incidents of cleansing pain and sacrifice had been made the
subject of inquiring prayer ; and the feeling at times had been so heart-
felt, so intense, that one could almost hear the booming of guns, and
feel the near and distant clarified atmosphere; while one or two of us,
I knew, had felt the deeper and more fateful inner issues which concern
rather the souls of nations. We felt that in the end we, as a nation,
would be adjudged by divine ideas alone — by God's own sense of justice
and right in the matter — and not by any democratic thesis or dethroning
of kings.

The service hour was early, while it was yet cool; before the sun
rose high. And it may be, too, that the earlier morning air is naturally
more rarefied inwardly; just as in the morning's early hours our hearts
and minds are said to be more intuitively receptive to the higher and
diviner things of life. Our rector, I remember, once spoke of this, —
"Father" Banning, some of us would more intimately call him, although,
so far as I know, it is only a courtesy, in recognition of his corrective
love and care. His hair has whitened, but not so much with years as
by events in his personal life, as I had come to know; and the effect
that morning was heightened by the sheen white of his surplice and of
the altar furnishings in the morning sunlight, as it streamed untinted
through the chancel's opened windows.

JM

166 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

The "father," as I prefer to call him, is thin and ascetic looking,
yet his figure is sinuous and erect, suggestive of reserved vigour. There
are times when he reminds me more of the French soldier-priests,
fighting in the trenches, and of the asceticism of the battlefield, rather
than of solitude and the cloister, though signs of the contemplative —
the inner warrior-contemplative — are not lacking in his face. His earnest
request to us — to pray — had in it something of imperativeness, almost
of command.

Whenever the Church was mentioned there were certain inflections
in the father's voice, familiar to me as expressive of inner awakening
concern, as if, in this soul-searching hour, he were more keenly conscious
of the Church's inner and outer responsibilities and its vast opportunity.
He had often spoken to me of the saints of the Roman Church, the
most notable amongst them and catholic in the wider sense, such as St.
Teresa of Jesus, and St. Francis of Assisi, St. Catherine of Siena, and
some of the great saint-scholars whom he sometimes quoted. He said
the liberated spiritual energies of these were not yet spent, nor had
their love and labours ceased to uplift us. By those who would listen,
their voices might still be heard; and we needed their positive example
of forceful and virtuous living as never before. And, although I am
only beginning to understand these things, and to know the father inti-
mately, I am inclined to think that some of those thoughts returned to
him in that service hour.

This call for special prayer, daily and in our own homes, came after
a brief recital of some of the father's highest hopes for the Church's
immediate future. It followed a brief description of a few re-dedicated
wayside shrines in France, which for many years had stood unused and
unheeded, save to serve as marks for German guns in the first months
of the war. As I remember, they indicate the cross-roads, as well as
where the devout would be likely to assemble. When some of our own
boys were passing on their way to the front, and there was less danger
of German shells, some little French children were seen to gather at one
of those shrines and were overheard to pray, in words too simple and
full of perfect faith for me to repeat, for a blessing upon American
mothers and fathers.

And in England, too, here and there, where for centuries none had
stood, wayside shrines were at that time springing up, as it were, over-
night. Perchance some tired, though tenacious munition worker might
reverently bare and bow his head in prayer or silent recollection of the
newly found Living Christ, whom his wounded soldier-shopmates
declared they had seen face to face as they fought and fell. And it was
commonly believed among both the French and the English that those
who would never return, who had made the greater sacrifice, were led
on by Him still fighting: on, past death's invisible front line to their
part in the Allied nations' and His own inner victory — farther "West" !

Our boys were then quietly digging themselves in, preparatory to

POST WAR PROBLEMS 167

our share in the fighting. Yet there were no shrines on our own road-
sides, that the father knew of, from whence we, too, might prayerfully
aid them, except it be in our own hearts.

Father Banning's principal theme, however, was more militant than
devout, as that word is generally understood. As I listened, full, clear,
and true came that higher spiritual keynote we need so much at this
time; that we need at all times, and just as much in our normal life
as when we are fightimg. But we shall need it especially in the work of
reconstruction, immediately before us, if that is to be made the spiritual
awakening which we, in our rarer moments of war-time inspiration, have
desired it to be, and not the administrative, specious world dream, and
spiritual lethe, which it is in danger of becoming! It is for this vital
reason that I am endeavouring to repeat the father's theme, to impart
something of its inner stimulus and teaching, as I now recall it, even
though imperfectly, in broken sentences, and in my own diction.

Incidentally, the father in his^ discourse likened the times we are
living in to some great lenten period, in the early spring of one of God's
greater years. As in the lesser, truly observed lent — our own periodic
inner and outer struggle — so now was God bringing to light and life
and to instant action the more potent and widespread, hidden motives,
both high and low, — laying bare powers devilish, and also the loftiest
of human passions. In nations and men there is taking place a world-
wide sifting of the wheat from the chaff in human life and its institutions.
In the fullness of this greater springtime, as on some great Easter Morn
— men, too, would say they had seen Him, that He had walked and
talked with them upon the way.

And he spoke of Him as Paul, the great post-lenten disciple, would
have us know Him, — as soldier, priest and king! Using Paul's simili-
tudes of perfection in sovereignty and holy orders, he spoke of Him
as after that archaic Order of Melchisedec; kings of righteousness and
of peace beyond our present human understanding; royal priests of the
Most High, themselves the sacrifice, immortal, divine — of beginningless
and endless life, like unto the Sons of God; kingly priests and priestly
kings of old, sacred and mysterious personages of which we can learn
so little.* But beyond this, as the conqueror of the world's evil, He
was the Soldier Immortal, the divine exemplar in Paul's own fight.
"The Master and disciple — soldier, priest, and king," slowly reiterated
the father; "A divine fruition of their ideal human counterparts in our
midst. Here to remain, maybe, in purer and ever purer forms, until the
eternal principles they would symbolize to us shall have become woven
into our common inner life and being."

To elucidate further points, he used the symbol of a fully armed and

* It is recorded, too, that these kings of the Order of Melchisedec were the great adminis-
trators of justice among the Jewish and surrounding Arab nations in Abraham's time, presumably
of clear-seeing, never-failing, neyer-faltering justice, as God Himself would have it. They were
arbiters of the issues of battle also; and from this we might well infer that they were combatants
themselves in righteous wart

168 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

armoured knight, in ceaseless action. Our moral and physical courage
and willing obedience ; our well-fulfilled duties ; our faith and enthusiasm,
and our inner endeavours and prayers and love for Him, in so far as
these are pure and virile and strong, may be said to be as a keen-edged,
well-tempered sword in His and our hands, for our country's immediate
inner and outer defense.

Moreover, these — to follow our knightly symbol still closer — were
a silent and direct challenge to the remaining evil in our own hearts,
as to every would-be wrong-doer in our midst, in the tourney lists of
life within and around us, as, conversely, our self-seeking will and sin
were accumulative for our own and our nation's moral and spiritual
weakness and eternal defeat. And under one of God's own laws, for
the safe-guarding of His will and purposes, every just war was the
outcome of a similar inner challenge, similarly given, — perhaps long
before, silently gathering in strength meanwhile, till its opposer and the
moment for decisive action came, when a would-be righteous nation
closes its visor — and mobilizes its fighting forces, munitions and men.

The father reminded us that none could serve two masters, nor
serve simultaneously under opposing generals in these days; nor love
Christ and His enemies at the same time, as some of us were vainly
trying to do.

As that knightly spiritual symbol grew more and more luminous and
clear to me, the Master's life and light and love shining through it; I
knew it in my heart to be the radiant image of the soul. The soul itself
is essentially a fighter: this was the great fact the war had revealed
to us, the knowledge the German nether-soul had forced upon us.

II.

Our church is small and the worshippers were few that morning,
and as I walked along my thoughts went out to some of them.

There were some well-to-do people amongst us, and by one of those
seeming paradoxes in life I was attracted to and interested in them.
We approached one another, and the church door, from opposite
directions, as it were, from the opposite extremes of social and material
life, yet the inner obstacles we had each to overcome were akin. Through
long, wearisome years, as I have reason to know, some of those people
had been slowly learning that wealth is, after all, only an asset, a "talent,"
moral, spiritual, or material, as we make it, and not a power in itself.
While, as a poor man, it had been as slowly and finely ground into me,
by hard-earned experiences, that toil and poverty and hardships, and
heavy burdens of responsibility are necessary to the moral and spiritual
redemption of the vast majority of my class.

Thus we entered the church where, through Father Banning's
"medieval notions" of daily prayer and religious exercises, we had begun
to find that only in so far as we reach to the soul in ourselves can we
hope to bring it to life in others.

Among those of our church is one whose great wish is that Science,

POST WAR PROBLEMS 169

its tireless efforts turned inwards, should discover, symbolized in its
researches, the Way of the Cross : that the scientist with eyes undimmed
by self and sin, or by nature's material false reflections, might see the
glorified human soul he has so often failed to extricate from his
laboratories and experiments.

And there is one, I know, whose heart's desire it is to make new
designs for the chancel's stained-glass windows, which shall typify the
vicarious fighting from Mons, Verdun, and the Marne; he would have
the White Comrade there, tending the wounded and dying, His own
hands and feet and side not yet healed. There should be place also for
St. George, the English St. Michael, leading his deathless and invincible
angel hosts, brigaded with the fighting souls of the war's first dead, at
Mons ; for Jeanne d'Arc, warrior-saint and disciple, battling now as never
before for the spiritual sovereignty of France, the Sacred Heart upon
her banners; and for humble Lieutenant Pericard's exalted deed at the
Bois Brule — "Rise, ye dead men !" and the dead and dying as they arose,
their souls aflame with the fire of conflict.

He would have some representation of the evil thing, beast-like and
monstrous, with which this still unfinished struggle has been fought;
and he would include a scene of crucified prisoner-soldiers, silhouetted
against a darkened sky, or, returning home, branded and maimed and
leprosy-infected at the hands of dexterous German surgeons; the
iridescent inner spiritual light of these to illumine the high altar, and
their blackening shadows there to stay, lest we as a nation forget, or
should again look on and wait.

III.

But there is also my own post-war problem : I am a workman, and
my thoughts turn naturally to those whose daily lives and predilections
I share. As I now look out upon forty odd years of a workshop life,
not yet ended, I can see more or less clearly some of the ameliorative
efforts, made during that time, to redeem us, as a class. There were
the developments from the endeavours of such men as Maurice and
Kingsley, in England, to smooth the working-class pathway with middle-
class cultural refinements, middle-class paintings, poetry, music, and
social amenities, — all of these of doubtful uplifting value, inasmuch as
none of them, so far as I could see, had made any deep spiritual impress
upon the middle-class itself. Out of those efforts, as my memory serves
me, sprang the university settlement-houses and the workingmen's
colleges of England's large cities, — that English working-class men and
women might breathe for a brief evening's space the rarefied air of
Oxford and Cambridge and other large English universities; perchance
that, as a class, they might visibly rise thereby to higher spiritual levels.
And I have seen many such benignly intentioned efforts come westward,
to be newly energized or reborn here among our own people.

Yet, notwithstanding all this, and the increasing political power that
has been given to us, it appears to me that, as a class, we should have

170 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

been little further advanced, spiritually, but for the recent stirrings of
inner life that the war has brought to some of us. Nay, more, where
the lines of class demarcation and cleavage have not for the time been
swept away by the war's common demands, they have become more
visible and sharply defined ; while the two hemispheres are seething with
working-class discontent, and Society is being stealthily undermined with
Bolshevism, as the war's aftermath. In Europe, particularly, the working
people's idea would seem to be either to absorb the upper classes in a
grotesque attempt to deprive them of their legitimate functions and to
copy their vices ; or, as "self-determinedly" to destroy them, and to leave
no trace, except the wreckage, as witness to the crime.

In our own country, when the exigencies of the war were forcing
men of all classes to assume many new political and personal, moral and
spiritual responsibilities, — the head of the great Steel Corporation, in
discussing the modern labour movement, declared that by the outwardly
levelling process now in progress — "call it socialism, social revolution,
bolshevism, what you will, . . . the workman without property who
labours with his hands is going to be the man who will dominate the
world." As a government high official, moreover, at that crucial time,
he, seemingly, sought to placate this ruling power-to-be, by going from
shipyard to shipyard morally cudgelling and coaxing the men to greater
efforts, to realization of the country's war needs; and, by smoothly
spoken words, to appease, if possible, the leading few whose avowed
aim was permanently to force up wages by inducing the workers to
"go slow" while this propitious, war-created opportunity lasted.

The president of the American Federation of Labor has himself
since openly declared for world-government by the combined forces of
internationally organized labour, as we now know them. While some
time previous to this, as if to show, perhaps, the ethical foundations upon
which it is intended that labour should build, a less known political
labour leader, who was chosen by our Federal Government to handle
labour and capital disputes for the period of the war, addressed the
following words to a wildly applauding audience of delegated representa-
tives of iron-ship building trades' workers :

"It is not a mere question of being behind President Wilson. . . . The
question is, are you behind yourself? We took advantage of the situation
abroad, . . . (and) before war was declared by the United States we saw
to it that organized labour was going to get proper recognition, and that con-
ditions of employment and standards of living would not be interfered
with. . . . Nothing can be done, unless we are consulted and practically
give our consent to it. ... You have the ship-building. And we are not
talking about getting a penny an hour now. . . . We are striking for dollars.
We have forgot that there is such a thing on the market as a penny any
more. ... All are asking for dollars, — two dollars a day increase, three
dollars a day increase. We are just coming together and going to get dollars
now instead of pennies. ... I want you to get that into your heads. For the
first time in the history of the United States Government, . . . Uncle Sam
is paying the expenses of union committees to come to Washington to meet

POST WAR PROBLEMS 171

the employers. Isn't that a pretty good union agreement? That is only the
beginning. I hope the convention here will get in their minds that beautiful
thought of more. Place your officers in a position to go out and demand. . . .
And in this crisis, instead of our power being lessened, we will come out after
the war is over bigger and greater than we ever were before."

This abandoned appeal to class selfishness was made in the fourth
year of the war,— on the eve of its decisive battles, when our troops
were hurriedly embarking for the front in British ships! For aught
these men knew, and seemingly cared, they would have sacrificed their
own sons, if not the country, to add a digit to their paychecks, or for a
few hours' less work a week.

Some have even dared to suggest that the Church cast aside its
"mysteries," which they evidently do not understand, and prostitute its
potentially divine energies in an alliance with organized labour; that
labour might gain thereby some few outer benefits, earned or unearned,
merited or unmerited, that it may desire. Absurd as this proposition
may seem to some, it is to me by no means impossible that organized
labour, with its purely selfish and material aims, may seek to live and
thrive, vampire-like, on the Church's spiritual vitality. If conjoined,
their energies might give abortive birth to some of those wildly inchoate
"Christian" socialistic schemes of an industrial, earthly paradise, familiar
to us by many names, — possibly to yield a harvest of more or less
violence as the promised richer results from these are not forthcoming.
For spiritual nemesis follows swiftly its causes in these days, as we
may have seen.

What of the so-called Christian Labor Guilds of Germany? —
founded at the express request of the Kaiser, some twenty odd years
before the war ? These church and labour unions comprise both Catholics
and Protestants, and were formerly intended, not so much to give sanctity
or lower-class religious feeling to the world-Germanizing movement, as
to prepare the German working people themselves for their necessary
and due part in the plan, as subsequent events have shown to be the case.

In accordance with the well known character of Vatican traditions,
the inner and actively perverted side to these was, evidently, either
secretly endorsed or silently consented to by Rome until 1912, when their
conduct and continued existence, as a recognized part of the Roman
Church, were placed before Pope Pius X. He advised, in the Singulari
quadam, September 24th of that year, that they be "tolerated," and
allowed, so far as their Catholic members were concerned, to remain
under diocesan rule, side by side with other and purely Roman Catholic
church and labour organizations, formed later, to avoid, if possible, the
incessant personal strife, hitherto engendered. Neither the Vatican nor
the German Emperor, nor the German people, were disappointed in their
common protege, or in the help and promise those guilds gave to Ger-
many's still unrelinquished attempt at world-wide spiritual destruction.

The clerically sponsored labour unions of Germany, with their
representatives in the Reichstag, have almost from their birth fought

172 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

the purer forms of Catholicism and protestantism, and have compounded
with the socialist to incite and carry on German interclass warfare ; they
have stood, openly or secretly, back of the Vatican and of Prussian
intrigues for world-conquest and temporal power, and have been as
solidly behind the German armies of occupation, with their murdering,
pillaging, and outraging. A glimpse of this may be obtained from Pan-
Germanism versus Christendom, by Rene Johannes. Andre Cheradame,
in his The Essentials of Enduring Peace, also mentions that one of these
guilds, a few weeks before the armistice, called for the retention of the
stolen coal-fields of Longwy-Briey. With such things as these in mind,
I have sometimes wondered what part Luther's had been in Germany's
downfall, — what the effect of his violent political councils, and his
pulpit-advocacy of libertinism, along with his broken Augustinian vows !
Whenever such church and labour alliances as the above are advo-
cated, we should be wise to remember how it was when the Master
himself worked outwardly among men. There was the multitude, — the
common people who in the beginning heard him gladly, whose sick he
healed, whose dead he raised to life — whom he loved. Was it not they
who became incensed when he would no longer miraculously feed them,
and refused either to help them to political power or to free them from
Caesar's yoke, by becoming their constitutional king? And was it not
they who at the Passover Festival — their yearly thanksgiving for deliver-
ance from Egyptian fetters — were stirred to final and overwhelming
reaction by their leaders, and cried "crucify him"? The divine life-
energies he had so abundantly and continuously poured out upon them
were in the end, almost in an instant, turned against him. And so it
would inevitably be as between the Church and the labouring class, were
they to enter into such a compact as here described.

IV.

"And how would you have us regard labour, my son?" said Father
Banning to me, after listening patiently to some of the opinions I have
expressed above.

"Just the same as you would any other individual, Father !" I replied
"We may have the whole social, industrial, political and economic
structure remodelled to suit our requirements; may have every aesthetic
and emotional want satisfied, but I have yet to see that this would
necessarily raise us morally, or bring us any nearer to Christ and the
inner world, — as so many preachers and would-be uplifters seem to
imply. In the absence of any more marked signs of repentance than
we, as a class, now show, I do not see how satisfying all our demands
will change us inwardly. Neither do I see that it can free us from the
direct consequences of the industrial sins we continue, wilfully or
unknowingly, to commit in common life together, and which must be
atoned for at some time in our common workaday life. No outwardly
ameliorative measure, no change in state organization and law, can ever

POST WAR PROBLEMS 173

exempt us from those penalties, it seems to me, any more than we can
be absolved, by a word, from the sins we, as individuals, daily and hourly
fall into; and which, you know, are only wiped out by suffering — our
own and our Master's.

"I hardly need to remind you that the mistake, as I see it, is not
in seeking to safeguard our worldly interests, nor in caring for our
mental and emotional health and physical well-being. No, it lies in
working so exclusively for these, thinking thereby to supply our inner
needs, or that it would by chance lead us up to something ethically higher
and finer in life, if not to our moral and spiritual regeneration.

"Our present-time mood, resentful of moral restraint the world over,
and our self-assertive tendencies to revolt more or less aimlessly and
with sinister purpose, regardless of others, should make this mistake
perfectly clear. Even the German industrial workers, you will remember,
were reputed to be amongst the best educated and best cared-for working
people in all Europe : — with what spiritual result we may see by following
their trail through Belgium and France.

"There are some God-given industrial laws as inexorable and
exacting as that of supply and demand, and as soul-saving, in a way, as
any of those which seem to us to apply only to the things of our immortal
life. So long as these are disobeyed, any social, economic, and political
defenses we may attempt to put around ourselves will, in time, be
demolished.

"We need a more spiritual motive-force in our common working
life. On the employers' side some higher and nobler impulse than greed
of gain, or mere love of business strategy and money-making tactics
for their own sakes, — something industrially akin to the old spirit of
noblesse oblige. And for ourselves we need a more redeeming incentive
than feeling compelled to work for a living, while envying the rich, and
ambitious to become one of them, but lacking the ability. We need to
put out more self-regenerative effort and honest work — to feel and to
live up more to our class responsibilities, obligations, and duty — on
both sides.

"We have heard much of the self-seeking and useless lives of the
upper classes, and almost every sin possible to an employer has been
made known to us by publicists in the past twenty or thirty years. It
has yet to be as commonly and clearly recognized by those who really
wish to help us, that employer and workman are pretty much alike at
heart; that, when we are put to the moral test, there is little to choose
between us; that, as many of us have learned by experience, the small
employer, who has risen from our own ranks, is usually the very worst
man for whom to work.

"To put our own case in its most favorable light, making the most
of the burdens that selfish and unscrupulous employers and financiers
have put upon us, — the fact remains that for material services, for the
most part sparingly, listlessly, and often sullenly rendered, we have

174 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

constantly demanded, as a class, the spiritual reward of lasting liberty
and happiness ; whereas our right to these can only come to us, like our
wages, as we earn them. That we reap what we sow is my belief, as
it is yours, Father," I continued.

"But our great need is to live cleaner lives on both sides. By far
the most enslaving force we meet is one seldom recognized by social
reformers, — it is that morally fetid air, the by-product of our personal
lives, which hangs like a malarial vapour about most workshops,
factories, and offices. Intangible as it is, it is made almost visible by
the degenerate anecdotes, similes and innuendoes in common use.

"Wherever you find spiritual life springing up amongst us, life
which is industrially self-redemptive, spontaneously generous and for-
giving, honest and clean, you will see very little of this coming from any
extraneous efforts on our behalf, and little indeed, even, from evangelistic
work among us. You will see it mostly as the fruits of pain and sorrow,
sacrifice and suffering, poverty and increasing burdens of duty and
responsibility in our private and common lives. However we may put
our feelings into words, in our hearts we know industry to be a form
of devotion, the companion of religion in common life. Dimly, and in
our various ways, we see industry as evidencing the human soul
struggling upward by self-devised efforts, through divinely imposed
tasks, to free itself; and it is, therefore, divinely ordained — a necessary
part in the Master's great plan for the western world.

"Here, almost in a word, is the Church's task, the Church labour
problem — to make of modern industry the companion of religion in
modern life. Can such an end be furthered by those misleading emotional
sympathies and religio-economic utterances which come from many
pulpits? No, these have but helped to enervate us spiritually, morally,
and physically, — have fed our vanity and self-importance, and hastened
us to the point where we are now practically demanding to be given the
world's balance of power. These have been to us as a stone, given
instead of the bread of inner life for which some of us are hungering.
Have they not been even as a poison in the communion cup that has
been handed to us?

"Our real and most pressing need is for moral and spiritual
instruction and guidance. We need the moral and spiritual daily food
which we can assimilate, both as individuals and as a class; which it is
the function of the Church to supply; and which will nourish our
impoverished, underfed, moral and spiritual systems.

"There is an industrial way of the cross, — this I know. And maybe
He, become divine workman for our sakes, has trodden and knows every
inch of its path; but it does not begin and end at the factory door.

"Behind the crucified form, as you know, in a blaze of inner light
stands the Master Himself, living and accessible. You are His servitor,
Father, here as in other spiritual matters, if I may presume to say so.
And where we, with our limitations, cannot reach up to Him directly,
you must be as the link in that living vicarious chain of saints and
preceptors that bind us to Him." LABOURING LAYMAN.

STUDENTS' SCRAP BOOK

THE MISSING LINK

IN The Secret Doctrine, written in the years following 1885, and
published in 1888-89, it is very positively stated that no missing
link between man and the anthropoid apes will ever be discovered,

because no such link has ever existed. (The Secret Doctrine, Vol.
II., page 200; 1893 edition.)

In the intervening thirty years abundant relics of prehistoric man
have been added to those known when The Secret Doctrine was pub-
lished; of these relics, two groups have been hailed as genuine "missing
links" between the anthropoid apes and homo sapiens, intelligent man.

The first of these groups of bones was found in 1891, within a
few months of Mme. H. P. Blavatsky's death, near the native hamlet
of Trinil, on the left bank of the Bengawan River, in central Java.
The relics consisted of a part of a skull and two teeth. The skull
appears to have been low and depressed, with strong supraciliary ridges.
The teeth are very large. A year later, in 1892, a femur or thigh bone
was discovered by the same explorer, Dr. Eugene Dubois, of the Dutch
army medical service, at a spot fifty feet away from the site of the
first find. Dr. Dubois leaped to the conclusion that femur and skull
belonged to the same individual. On the strength of the depressed
skull, he called the newly discovered creature Pithecanthropus, or "ape-
man"; on the strength of the thigh bone, which appears to be distinctly
human, he added the specific name Erectus, "standing upright."

In his Prehistoric Man, 1915, Professor J. F. Scott Elliot records,
concerning Pithecanthropus Erectus, one of those instances of harmony
among men of science which rejoiced the heart of the author of The
Secret Doctrine: "The skull is considered a human skull by six of these
celebrated authorities, who are, for the most part, English. It is thought
to be a missing link, that is intermediate, by eight, mostly French; it is
considered an ape's skull by six others, who are mostly German. Only
one authority makes the femur that of an ape, thirteen consider it
human, and six make it out intermediate." With unconscious humor
Professor Scott Elliot says that these authorities are "all scientists whose
opinion would be taken as final in any ordinary dispute."

In the autumn of 1911, at Piltdown, near Fletching, in Sussex,
England, Mr. Charles Dawson found parts of a skull, for which also has
been claimed the title of missing link. The right half of a lower jaw
was later discovered in the same bed of gravel. As in the case of
Pithecanthropus Erectus, Mr. Dawson at once leaped to the conclusion
that the skull and the jaw had belonged to the same individual, of a
new, pre-human species, for which was invented the name Eoanthropus,

175

176 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

"Man of the Dawn." And, since the jaw had characteristics resembling
those of certain apes, while the skull was distinctly human, it was
proclaimed that a new missing link had been found between the apes
and man; and reconstructions of this ape-man, or, as Dr. Arthur Keith
appears to think, ape-woman, have made their appearance in the
museums.

It is interesting to find the same variety of opinion concerning
Eoanthropus as has already been illustrated in the case of Pithec-
anthropus. On page 388 of Dr. Keith's Antiquity of Man are two
reconstructions of the parts of the skull alone (without the jaw), one
by Dr. Keith, the other by Dr. Smith Woodward, which suggest two
widely different races, not merely two distinct individuals.

But the point of vital interest about the supposed Eoanthropus is
this : Mr. Gerrit S. Miller, Jr., of the Smithsonian Institution, at
Washington, has published, in 1915 and 1918, two exceedingly able
monographs, very lucid, though of necessity extremely technical, which
appear to prove that Eoanthropus is a myth, for the very simple reason
that the skull is the skull of a human being, while the jaw is the jaw
of a prehistoric chimpanzee, overwhelmed, perhaps, in the same flood.
So strong is Mr. Miller's case that, on the strength of the jaw, he has
not hesitated to establish an early species of chimpanzee, which he calls
Pan Vetus, Pan being the generic name of the chimpanzee, while vetus
means simply "old."

An equally distinguished member of the Smithsonian staff, who has
published many closely reasoned monographs on mammals, and has done
excellent specialist work on the bones of the skull, confidently assured
the writer of this study that "Pithecanthropus was nothing but a gigantic
Gibbon," that is, an ape, pure and simple, with no human traits whatever,
and therefore in no sense a "missing link."

It would seem, then, that neither Pithecanthropus nor Eoanthropus
has any claim whatever to that title, and that the categorical statement
in The Secret Doctrine has in no way been impugned.

C. J.

ABOUT WOMEN

During the Red Cross "drive" in New York, many thousands of
young girls served as collectors. They accosted men on the streets and
asked them for money. They entered hotel lobbies and cafes, soliciting
contributions. The writer saw one of them, unattended, enter for the
same purpose a saloon in one of the less reputable neighborhoods of the
city. These young girls were dressed in Red Cross garb. Occasionally
they worked in pairs. But shall we be understood if we say that a
day's work of that kind deprives a girl of something which — if she had
not lost it previously — would have been one of her chief attractions

STUDENTS' SCRAP BOOK 177

among men ? Such an experience tends to make her bold, to toughen
her. Men whom the fire of this war will purify, will not like bold,
tough girls. A girl who has lost even a fraction of her modesty is to that
extent less charming.

We read not long ago of a French girl, supposed (alas !) to be of the
same descent as Jeanne d'Arc, and who was encountered by an American
war correspondent driving an ambulance near the front. She wore
trousers. She was smoking a big, black cigar. She crossed her legs.
She had proved herself very efficient, very courageous. But a woman
had been lost to the world, and — it is not fair to the men.

Jeanne d'Arc was not like that. She was a saint. She was modesty
itself. And it is only saints who can do the work of men without losing
their femininity. Ordinary women lose whatever they had to start with,
which in some cases is so little that the loss may not be noticeable.
Perhaps in that case it matters less, though it might be argued that it
matters more. In any event, saintliness of motive and of manner will
protect a woman from almost anything. But her saintliness must be
consistent. It must increase as the result of every experience. It must
grow the greater as she grows older. And how many real saints, such
as that, are there in the world!

There are not men enough to do the work, it may be urged. Our
reply is: there are men enough. For we do not suggest that women
should do no manual labour. The work those girls were doing for the
Red Cross was not manual. And if, as the result of their absence from
the streets, the Red Cross had raised some twenty million dollars less
than it did raise, — what of it? The total asked for v/as greatly over-
subscribed. If more be needed later, it can and will be raised. The
work of those girls was not needed. Nor do we believe that the work
of women ever is needed when it is harmful. The universe is not
governed that way. Granting that it is a woman's duty to do something,
the doing of it is intended to ennoble and not to toughen her. Good
women should not allow themselves to be stampeded into doing things
against which their own instinct rebels, and, for the sake of their own
sons and brothers, if not for the sake of womanhood in general, they
ought not to countenance conduct in other women which detracts from
modesty and which tends, in the end, to cheapen womanhood in the eyes
of men.

GERMANY

The following is an extract from a letter written by a British officer
who was a prisoner in Germany for three and a half years and who
was then in Holland, having been "exchanged" for some German officer
captured by the British.

In his first letter he said : "From the moment we crossed the frontier,

12

178 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

we were treated with the greatest kindness by everyone, the first kind-
ness anyone had shown us in three and a half years."

Our correspondent adds : — "He writes with restraint, but the deepest
bitterness of the Germans' treatment of our unfortunate prisoners, as
he says there is no such thing as a decent German ; they are an utterly
uncivilized and barbarian nation, without an idea of truth and honour,
and their word can never be trusted. No one knows them better than
the prisoners, who have suffered so long and so terribly at their hands,
and their testimony against the German nation is a terrible one."

ROYALTY

One of the more conservative New York newspapers, commenting
on the reception of the Prince of Wales in Canada, reminds us that
"the attendants of a queen bee bow and scrape as they retire from her
presence, crawling backward." In that case, the newspaper adds, there
is excuse for homage, because the queen bee is the mother of all the
hive; but for mankind there is no excuse. Consequently, "homage to
royalty is not so much super-human as infra-apian."

As usual, the man who writes reveals himself, and no more. The
man who wrote that is a materialist. To a student of Theosophy,
physical things are symbols of spiritual realities : more than that, they
are the embodiment, though perhaps the very imperfect embodiment,
of those realities. Ideally speaking, every word or act of man should
be a sacrament, that is to say, "an outward and visible sign of an inward
and spiritual grace." Failure to recognize that as the ideal, and failure,
therefore, to try to live up to it, results in sacrilege. Thus, marriage,
which ought to be a sacrament, is in the vast majority of cases a sacrilege
of the worst kind.

The student of Theosophy sees in royalty the reminder of that
which used to be, and the promise of that which is to come, — namely,
the reign of the Adept Kings, of those great beings who combine the
dual function of Priest-Initiate and Ruler of men. He sees in royalty,
therefore, the symbol, the promise, of his most passionate desire. But
he sees more than that : he sees an expression in this world of the
hierarchy of the Lodge; he sees "an outward and visible sign of an
inward and spiritual grace" actually bestowed on those who lawfully
occupy thrones, by and through their birth in the first place, and, in
the second place, as a result of their sacramental consecration.

Talleyrand, while still a Bishop, and about to celebrate Mass,
appealed to a friend who was to be present, not to make him laugh. But
though a sceptical mocking priest, or a dissipated priest, is horrible,
nothing can be more repellant than royalty which prostitutes itself and
turns sacrament into sacrilege. A. — Z.

ALSACE AND LORRAINE

PART III

SECTION III

FRANCE

THE spirit of a man — his soul, his enduring personality — is not
to be discovered merely by the minute classification of his actions,
thoughts, and feelings. These outer things are of the earth,
earthy. Viewed from the inner world of permanent realities,
they are at best stained, cramped, and distorted, because immersed in the
crude materiality of an external, unspiritual medium. The spiritual man,
— the Heavenly Man of St. Paul — is the essence of these outer manifesta-
tions of life and force, — that alone which has an element of immortality
in them, that alone which, through them, obeys the fundamental laws of
spiritual well-being. All else belongs to earth, and perishes when its cycle
of existence ends.

The true individuality is the complete embodiment of a single purpose.
The greatest men in history were those who stood for a certain principle,
who worked towards a definite goal. It was that Cause to which they
had dedicated their lives and which gave them a sure footing in the things
of immortality, which has made them live for us long after the personality
could survive. Great statesmen, great poets, great soldiers, and great
saints who sometimes combined many of these functions, all flung ordinary
life away, and raised themselves into an individual power able to identify
itself with, and express, the nobler forces of life. So they have led the
mass of humanity into the world's religions, they have saved oppressed
peoples or destroyed tyrannies, they have founded religious orders, or
created great works of art. And the thing in them which is imperishable
is that which through all time endures, to inspire, to ennoble, to stimulate,
to purify.

Properly to read history, properly to discover that which lies back of
outer events and which reveals the purpose alike of individuals, or of
societies, or of nations, one must be able to span more than the life of a
single man, or of a dynasty, or even the comprehensive annals of a nation
or a race. History will only be read aright when its unity lies revealed,
when the eras and epochs fall into place as epi-cycles of the great days
of God — which are as a thousand years, or as a day.

Thus, to understand France one must look within and behind the
mass of historic detail. Outer events are symbols, and too often distorted,
cryptic symbols, which veil the inner reality. To appreciate France one
must read in terms of the larger life of the soul, in terms of epochs and
cycles, in terms of national life and consciousness, rather than in terms

179

180 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

of single centuries, or even single lives. True it is that France is pecu-
liarly rich in single lives, men and women who gave to France all that
they were, and in turn embodied and expressed the purpose for which
France — as an individual among nations — must herself be. But the true
France is a larger and a nobler individuality than any one of her saints or
kings, than any dynasty, or art, or literature, or historic event whatsoever.

The fabric of French national culture is woven of all these things,
and something more. Out of the multifarious experiences of daily life,
a man gradually evolves that self-conscious spiritual entity called by some
the soul, by others the spirit in man, the Christ. And France, through
her long past, has given birth to her own soul, her national spirit, her
conscious and immortal Ego.

Because she has a soul, is a soul, her sons and daughters are over-
shadowed by the sense of her presence ; they feel instinct within them the
purpose of their existence ; they sense their immortality, their youth, their
vitality ; they reach out after the beautiful in art, after truth in literature,
after perfection in daily life. France to-day, and for decades of centuries,
has not been merely a fortuitous conglomerate of stranger peoples, met
together for shelter from the storms of war, for personal power, or for
mutual commercial benefits. The "eternal traits of France," the "divine
versatility of France," her marvellously coloured civilization, are fruits of
a ripened individuality, are the realization in the world's outer life of the
soul, stirring and speaking within.

More than any other nation, more than any other race, France is
self-conscious. Her people recognize the permanent values which are her
character and strength, which are knit into her deepest consciousness.
"In each of us rests the whole of France, eager to expand in living deeds,"
writes Maurice Barres ; and he interprets truly the soul of France when
he adds, "We are united in France because from the man of intellect to
the humblest peasant we encounter the clear vision of something higher
and nobler than our own trifling personal interests, and scent an instinct
that the active sacrifice of ourselves for the glory of this ideal would be
joyfully accepted. . . . All the traditions of the past, all the testi-
monials of to-day which I have gathered together, are one and all products
of the same conception, made simple in France, which stands as the
champion of well-being upon earth." l

The "champion of well-being upon earth" — that is the purpose of
France, the key-note of her individual existence. She is the chosen
nation. The world looks askance at that term. The Jews were a chosen
people ; and the Germans to-day have claimed, and may still be claiming
for aught I know — to be God's own anointed. The Jews failed, they were
unworthy. A "stiff-necked and rebellious people," they resisted all the
special training of a thousand years, and when the hour of the fulfilment

*Divertes families spwitiielles de la France; trans, under the title Tht Faith of Franc*,
pp. 257, 2S4-S.

181

of their purpose was at hand, they stultified themselves, cast forth and
sought to destroy the very centre of their soul's life, and hence, as a
nation, destroyed themselves. Christ, son of the Father, and true King
of the Jews, said to the leaders of the people, "Therefore I say unto you,
the kingdom of God shall be taken from you, and given to a nation
bringing forth the fruits thereof." 2 A high privilege, their high calling,
was taken from them, unworthy, and given to another.

Was it given to Germany? Germany, the perversion of things true
and good, reflects in her muddy pool of psychic images such fragments
of imperishable truth as pass before her face; and it is a proof of the
existence of spiritual realities, and no real confusion, when psychic
shadows and semblances spring up to ape and mock the truth which they
reflect.

Essentially Germany is not a nation; she is a type of people, a race.
She has never been united, she has never had a purpose, until Bismarck
forced his own upon her. The many Germanys, the loosely bound
German peoples of seventy years ago, galvanized by his force — an evil
force — into a sudden concentrated burst of power, have shown the world
what violence of effort may achieve. But this so-called German nation
is no true nation, it has no true spirit, there is nothing immortal about it.
Its infamy will endure a time, but even that will pass out from men's
minds. "Gott mit uns" — God with us — say the Germans ; and the Catholic
priests of France invert this shadow, and reply, "Not God with us, but
we with God. We do not bring God down to our level, but we strive to
raise ourselves to His."

That is the heart of France. To raise itself to God is the heart's
desire, the ceaseless effort of the soul. Her people, because they have a
soul, are growing toward discipleship. And her greatest quality is loyalty ;
— loyalty to the right, loyalty to the highest that she sees, loyalty to her
mission amongst men and her high calling, loyalty to her saints and
warriors and kings.

The War has revealed the soul of France, tried again in the fire of
adversity. Roused by a great need, France, her sight dimmed by the
blindness of many of her leaders, nevertheless stood, fought, and won.
She proved loyal to her trust and she has reaped a harvest for herself
and all the world. Passionately she accepted the sacrifices demanded of
her — all the more passionately perhaps, because for a century her sight
had been beclouded by German socialism and the German pseudo-
democratic lust for individual liberty. But the need to save France herself
showed her people once more the responsibility that was theirs, the duty
that France owes to other nations and to God. France again took the
lead, France again came into her own, and the French people renewed
their faith in themselves and in their mission.

*St. Matthew, XXI. 43.

182 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

What nation is there that could express in good faith, and without
self-conscious rhetoric, to-day's common creed of her young officers and
men? One writes, "Many of the realities in the spiritual order, which
up to now have been mere shadows, have through constantly recurrent
experience, become visualized and vital. I am learning to live." 3 Many
might say the same, but for what does this nineteen year old Frenchman
live? "I dream eternally of the France of to-morrow, of this young
France which awaits her hour. She must be a France that is consecrated,
where none will have any right to live except for duty. . . . Our
duty is to become apostles." 4 Again he writes, "More and more, before
those who have fought and who have died, in the presence of the supreme
effort which has been undertaken, I think of the future France, of the
divine France which is to be. I could not fight at all were I not persuaded
that in the birth of this new France I shall be amply rewarded for having
killed, and for having died for her." 8

Another, eighteen years of age, Antoine Boisson, writes on New
Year's Day, 1916, "I am proud of being a soldier, of being young, of
feeling brave and full of life; I am proud of serving my country, of
serving France; loyalty to the flag, love of my native land, respect for
a spoken pledge, a sense of honour, are not mere idle words, empty of
meaning; they resound in my heart of eighteen like a clarion call; and
it is for them, should it be necessary, that I shall press forward to the
very limit of sacrifice." *

These Frenchmen have a religion, because they have France. What
does young Jean Rival mean when he includes France in his dying testa-
ment, if it be not a something of the spiritual order, a great Soul to which
his individual soul reaches up in worship and adoration? "Should I die,
I will die as a Christian and as a Frenchman. I believe in God, in France,
in victory. I believe in beauty, in youth, in life. May God protect me
to the end. Yet, should the shedding of my blood aid towards victory,
my God, Thy will be done." T

It is a spirit such as this, embosomed in countless Frenchmen, which
has created and re-creates "eternal France." The growth and fruition of
that consciousness may be traced through the centuries; and it is the
purpose of this section to outline briefly the position of France in the
civilization of Europe, both as revealed by the general sweep of her
history, and as seen by her historians, poets, and philosophers. Then we
shall be in a position to decide if Alsace-Lorraine really belong to France
— are bone of her bone, and one spirit with her.

If it should be objected that it is grossly unfair to place the best of
France — conceived in some such way — beside the worst of Germany, as
revealed in preceding sections, the answer is, first, that we are endeav-
ouring to discover what it is that Alsatians and Lorrainers mean when

•Alfred C*zalis in Barres. op. cit., p. 227. « p. 22S. • p. 209. «p 212. » p. 241.

ALSACE AND LORRAINE 183

they claim to be, and claim in the past to have become, integral parts of
the French national spirit. These Provinces talk in terms of national
feeling, of national consciousness, of La Patrie, and therefore we must
use the same terms. Their claim to kinship with France will be consid-
ered later. Second, Germany in this War revealed what it is, just as
France revealed herself. Facts are facts, and cannot be escaped. If
Germany can show a virtue, a nobility, a spirit comparable with that of
any of the Allied nations — let alone France — and such as all high-minded
men may recognize as virtue, let it do so. What it has done, however, all
men know. The fruits of two thousand years of German civilization
can be measured in terms of unrepented crimes; of works of art
irremediably destroyed; of an unnumbered list of dead, mutilated, and
demoralized; of dishonour that has bred distrust, and infamy that has
bred contempt. It is not these things which Alsace and Lorraine mean
when they speak of their soul and the soul of France. It is such things
that Alsace and Lorraine, through four hundred years of struggle, have
sought to separate themselves from, — to escape.

Duruy, in his Preface to the Histoire de France, says that "there is
always one point at which the general life is most intense and rich, a
focus in which civilization concentrates its scattered rays," 8 — that is,
France. This, as Guizot points out, is because "France did not enter into
the arena of political liberty until she had made immense progress in
civilization." 9 The criterion of things French, is civilization. "L'art de
bien vivre" — the art of right living — is the mainspring of France's
endeavour. "For more than twelve centuries, indeed, France seems to
have acted, fought, and conquered or suffered, for the whole world. It
has been her singular privilege that nothing of importance has been
accomplished in Europe without her having a hand in it ; no great political
or social experiment has been tried that has not first been worked out
within her borders; and her history is a summary and abstract of the
whole history of modern civilization. Such was the part played by Athens
in the Greek world, and later, in the third age of ancient civilization, that
of Rome." 10 Thus writes Duruy ; and, a student of the Greek state, he
knew how much of Greece was transported direct to the very soil of
France. Greek language, Greek arts, the Greek atmosphere, Greek
civilization flourished more in the southern and eastern half of France
than anywhere else along the Mediterranean. So that it was not merely
Roman civilization that was established in Gaul, but ancient Greece as
well.

This fact of the early influence of Greek ideas in France has never
received the attention it deserves. The reason is simple. Literary men
alone, like the learned savant C. C. Fauriel, who were concerned with
the sources of Provencal poetry, have discovered how deep-rooted a hold
Greek customs have had in France. The ordinary historian, surveying

8 p. iii, cd. of 1888. § Essai sur I'histoire de France, p. v, 1847. 10 loc cit.

184 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

the periods of German barbarism, seeing the decline of learning, the
disappearance of Greek schools and the Greek language, and finding no
pronounced Greek culture in France until its re-introduction during the
Renaissance, naturally concluded that the early Greek efflorescence
succumbed entirely to German barbarism. Sismondi, Guizot, Martin,
and their followers, one and all mention Greek influence, but without
attaching to it a more than passing interest, as of a forgotten relic.

But this influx of Greek culture has a very special significance. In
the "Notes and Comments" for April, 1913, readers of the QUARTERLY
will recall these words, that "on the authority of an ancient tradition"
the Master Christ, looking forward to his coming incarnation, "had at
first planned to come to birth in Greece, and that the Egyptian Lodge had
for centuries been preparing the way for his Greek birth, while a second
field was being prepared in Palestine, through the work of the Hebrew
Prophets and mystics. Owing, it was said, to the degeneration and
corruption of Greece, the Avatar's incarnation there became impossible
or inadvisable, and the Jewish field was chosen instead, in spite of the
many and critical dangers which were seen to beset it."

Does this not explain the Greek mysteries? Is this not reason for
the beauty and immortal glory of Greek art? The special outpouring
of the Lodge, of the Masters, gave Greece unique reflections of the
divine attributes. But since Greece failed, her mysteries were lost, her
art was turned downward and outward, and eventually both became
reflections on the surface, — her mysteries disgusting orgies, her art a
beautiful shell, no longer embodying the divine life within. Nevertheless
there was behind them the divine impetus; there was stamped on them
the divine seal of that which was their true creator and source. They
had, mixed in with mortal clay, some of the bread of life, come down
from heaven.

When the hour of the Incarnation was drawing nigh, the Lodge
must have seen the inevitable failure of even the "second field," Palestine.
The Master, it may be supposed, already foresaw what France might be,
and he prepared the soil of France, he enriched the soul of France, with
what he could transfer of all that had been poured out on Greece, so that
the whole effort expended on the earlier civilization should not be lost.
However this may be, Greek civilization was transported to the soil of
France, and flourished there, not merely at the time of the Renaissance,
but for a thousand years in Celtic days.

Sainte-Palaye, Raynouard, Fauriel, even Schlegel and Diez of the
German school, and their literary followers, or Charles Lentheric " on the
geographical and monumental side, combine a mass of testimony to prove
how deep-seated this Greek infusion was. Fauriel writes, "it is impossible
to give an adequate and just conception of the civilization (whether
general or literary) of the south of France during the Middle Age,

u La Greet et L'Oriertt en Province, 1878.

ALSACE AND LORRAINE 185

without first considering in what manner and to what extent it is linked
to the civilization which preceded it."12 The whole of Celtic Liguria, of
Provenge, of the country of the Celtic Helvii (now the department of
Ardeche), and that of ancient Volcae Arecomici, across the Rhone from
the Provincia — which included the famous cities of Aries, Nimes,
Avignon, and Beziers, comprising five degrees of latitude and twenty-five
cities, — all saw the establishment of Massilian (Marseilles) Greeks. "The
Celtic name of Aries was changed to Thelini, by which the Massilians
intended to indicate the fertility of its territory ; and the use of the Greek
language became so general in that city, that it continued to be spoken
there until the town fell into the hands of the Barbarians. Nimes became
likewise almost a Greek city. From inscriptions, which were found
among its ruins, we learn that it had a Greek theatre under the Romans,
and that it made use of Greek on monuments erected in honour of the
emperors." " The early Phocean settlers, so named from Phocis in Ionia
from whence they came, "preserved the genius, the manners, the laws and
arts of their native land in all their purity." 14

Turning for corroboration to the sources, Livy puts into the mouth
of a Rhodian deputy, pleading before the Roman Senate for the same
liberty and protection for the Asiatic Greek cities, as that afforded those
of Greece or France, that "the cities standing on the original soil, are not
more Grecian than their colonies . . . nor has change of country
changed either their race or manners. . . . The Massilians [or
inhabitants of Marseilles, i. e. the province, not merely the city] who, if
the inherent endowments of nature could be overcome by the genus of
the soil, would ere this have been rendered savage by the many barbarous
tribes surrounding them, are deservedly held in as high honour and
esteem by you as if they were inhabitants of the very centre of Greece.
For they have preserved, not only the sound of the language, the mode
of dress, and the usages ; but, above all, the manners, the laws, and a mind,
pure and untainted by contagion from their neighbours." 15

Out of a score of passages in Cicero, one will suffice. In his defence
of Flaccus, he says : "Nor do I pass over you, O Marseilles, you who
have known Lucius Flaccus as soldier and as quaestor, — a city, the strict
discipline and wisdom of which I do not know whether I might say was
superior, not only to that of Greece, but to that of any nation whatever;
a city which, though so far separated from the districts of all the Greeks,
and from their fashions and language, and though placed in the extremity
of the world and surrounded by tribes of Gauls, and washed with the
waves of barbarism, is so regulated and governed by the counsels of its
chief men, that there is no nation that does not find it easier to praise its
institutions than to imitate them." ie

u History of Provencal Poetry, trans, from the French by G. J. Adler, New York, 1860.
—p. 37. Italics ours.

"Op. cit., p. 41. "Op. cit., p. 42.

" Historiarum Romanarum, lib. xxxvii, cap. 54, 18-23. "Cicero Pro Flacco, cap. 26.

186 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

This Greek infusion leavened the whole of Gaul. The Druids, centre
of Celtic culture, "use the Greek letters in their public and private trans-
actions, and in almost all other matters," says Caesar 17 ; and Justin writes :
"From them [the Greeks] therefore, the Gauls learnt both the use of a
more polite way of life, their barbarity being laid aside and corrected,
and the tillage of lands, and the enclosure of cities within walls. Then
they became accustomed to live by laws, not arms ; to cultivate the vine
and plant olives : and so great a lustre was shed on men and things, that
it did not seem as if Greece had been transplanted into Gaul, but that
Gaul seemed transplanted into Greece." 18

The Massilian navigators were famous, penetrating as far north as
Norway, and traversing Gaul in every direction. "They had opened a
road along the Rhone and the Loire, as far as the coast of Armorica
[Brittany]. It was there where they obtained their tin and other produc-
tions from Great Britain, which they transported by the same way to the
shores of the Mediterranean. They had also communication with the
northeast of Gaul, and, to all appearances, with Germany. But it was
especially with the tribes of their immediate vicinity, and with those of
the valley of the Rhone, that they kept up habitual commercial relations.
The direct effect of these relations on the culture and social conditions
of these tribes is not of a nature to be appreciated or measured." ™ Strabo
relates at some length that an oracle commanded them, when they were
leaving Greece (c. 600 B. C.), "to take from Diana of Ephesus a
conductor for their voyage." Aristarcha, priestess, was commanded by
the oracle to accompany them, and "to take with her a plan of the temples
and statues," — a suggestive phrase, coming from the mouthpiece of the
Greek mysteries 600 B. C. The Masillians built on their citadel rock
"an Ephesium and the temple of the Delphian Apollo." 20 They founded
cities in Iberia (Spain) "as a rampart against the Iberians, in which they
introduced the worship of Diana of Ephesus, as practised in their father-
land, with the Grecian mode of sacrifice." Finally, of the city of
Marseilles itself : "Thus this city for some time back has become a school
for the barbarians, and has communicated such a taste for Greek litera-
ture, that they even write their contracts in Greek." 21

The average historian, who has not made a special study of the
subject, announces that the German invasions stamped out all this Greek
culture. Despite the fact that Greek was still the language of Aries, Nice,
Marseilles, Antipolis, and other cities of Phocean origin well on in the
third century, so few direct traces of it remained by the tenth century,
that the average historian is justified. But the ordinary historian does
not consider the heritage which the soul reaps. The soul garners

" Commentaries, Book vi, cap. 14. They had no other writing. Cf. in addition, Book I,
cap. 29, "In the camp of the Helvetii (Swiss) were found, and brought to Csesar, records written
out in Greek letters," etc. Strabo says of the Swiss: "Some have thought that their brazen
rhields prove these people to be of Grecian origin." (Geographical*, Book iv, cap. 6, sec. 2).

"Hist. Philipp, lib. xliii, cap. 4. " Fauriel, Op. cit., p. 46.

M Strabo, Geographical, Biba D, Keph. A, sec. 4. M Sec. 5.

ALSACE AND LORRAINE 187

imperishable experience, and the store-house of the spirit treasures
immortal possessions. Nearly a thousand years of Greek culture in
France could not be "lost." The intuition of French historians has
divined this fact, which they can only express, however, in general terms,
because strictly speaking they feel that it lies outside their province.
But one may, even so, find such remarkable passages as the following,
quoted at length from the preface to Henri Martin's seventeen volume
Histoire De France, doubly extraordinary because Martin was "a free-
thinking republican" :

"Descendants of the Gauls by birth and by character; descend-
ants of the Romans by education ; their life intensified by the medley
of barbarian Germans just when the vitality of the ancient civili-
zation was diminishing, united with Iberia and Greece by old
alliances, we can see to-day that it is not chance which has added
to our Gallic blood, the blood of all the great races of antiquity;
which has directed the slow formation of the French people on this
Gallic soil, placed in the centre of Europe, sharing all climates,
producing everything, in touch with all peoples. Such was to be
the theatre prepared by Providence for a nation destined to be the
keystone of the European arch (le lien du faisceau europeen), and
the initiator of modern civilization ; for a nation which was to com-
bine with the most marked originality, a unique ability to express
in herself the qualities and distinctive traits scattered among other
peoples, and to become the epitome of Europe; finally, [prepared]
for the nation at once supremely intelligent and supremely active,
which, since its beginning has represented in the world the doctrine
of the immortality of the soul, with the same grandeur that Judea
represented the principle of the unity of God; which saved the
Occident from Islamism ; which raised and humbled papal theocracy ;
brought to light again, within her bosom, from beneath the gross
stratum deposited by the German invasion, the glorious remains of
Greece and Rome; which has been successively the home of
Catholicism and the cradle of philosophy; and which has crowned
her heroic labours by planting the flag of liberty and equality on
the debris of the feudal world, imposing thus upon herself a new
mission, in which God grant that she know not how to fail."22

In the light of this conception, in the light of such manifest prepa-
ration, in the light of the self-conscious revelation of her saints and
kings and poets; — when we remember that from the first, St. John,
Lazarus and the Marys came to France; that "in the charitable and
trusting heart of the young girl" St. Genevieve, "burned the first spark
of patriotism, which later in a like manner fired the heroic soul, and was
the inspiration of Jeanne d'Arc" 23 ; when we remember that Clovis and
"all the people" shouted, "We reject mortal gods, and we are ready to
serve the God whose immortality Remi preaches" 24 ; that Charlemagne's
was a Christian Empire ; that St. Louis was a Christian King ; that
chivalry was of the essence of Christianity, and that finally the Master

"pp. viii & ix, ed. of 1861.

11 Charles Lenient, La Poesie Patriotique En France Au Moyen Age, 1891, p. 3.

14 Gretf. Tur. Hist. Francor. lib. II, cap. xxxi.

188 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

himself said to France through Margaret Mary, "Tell my eldest son
. that my heart desires to be painted on the standards of France,
so that she may be victorious over all her enemies and all the enemies of
holy Church," — when we consider these things do we not discover in
those earlier words of Christ a new purpose — "the kingdom of God shall
be taken from you, and given to a nation bringing forth the fruits
thereof"?

Joseph de Maistre wrote truly when he said, "We are attached to
the throne of the supreme Being by a supple chain that restrains without
enslaving us" 2B ; and he added : "Each nation, like each individual, has
received a mission which she must accomplish. France exercises a verit-
able magistracy over Europe, which it would be useless to contest." **
"Though thou art very strong, yet that verily is a gift to thee of God" ",
writes Homer; and as the cycles progress, and France remains true to
her mission, she is a living witness of the chain that links this world to
heaven, and of the strength vouchsafed to her, that should bring forth
fruit an hundredfold.

Light on the Path says that "man, when he reaches his fruition, and
civilization is at its height, stands between two fires. Could he but claim
his great inheritance, the incumbrance of the mere animal life would fall
away from him without difficulty. But he does not do this, and so the
races of men flower and then droop and die and decay off the face of
the earth, however splendid the bloom may have been. And it is left to
the individual to make this great effort; to refuse to be terrified by his
greater nature, to refuse to be drawn back by his lesser or more material
self. Every individual who accomplishes this is a redeemer of the race."

There have been many such flowerings in the path of France, all
in very minor cycles, but foreshadowing the reckoning of a final day.
France's opportunity is to become the redeemer of the nations, and it
may well be that only by a complete sacrifice may this be done. Between
the apex of the cycles there are of necessity long periods of incubation;
and the antecedents of one epoch are usually found coincident with the
efflorescence of the preceding. So the origins of Rome were in gestation
when the flaming dawn of Hellenism burst forth into the premature,
material glory of Marathon, Salamis, and Thermopylae; and the Incar-
nation planted its leaven when Roman Imperialism was dominant over
the whole world. In France, the first faint flowering after the reflected
greatness of Greece and Rome, and the forgotten mysteries of the
Druids, gave to the world St. Denis, St. Martin, St. Remi, Clovis, St.
Genevieve, and the long line of fighting priests, true mystics, nursed
in the spiritual schools of St. Benedict. At that time Rome fell; and,
outside France, Gregory the Great and St. Benedict alone succeeded in
planting a seed whose growth could span the desolation made by savage
conquest. What Gregory and Benedict could not do in their own time,

" Considerations sur La France — Oeuvrts Computes. Vol. I, p. 1.
"p. 8. "Iliad, I, 178.

ALSACE AND LORRAINE 189

Hildebrand and Cluny accomplished in the next cycle, reaping what had
been sown for them; but, from Sylvester II through the long period
of papal degradation, a series of German popes, backed by the German
Ottos, had wrought for temporal, material ends. So, with Leo IX and
Gregory VII, instead of the spiritual fruit from the seed of St. Benedict,
there came a great and brilliant efflorescence of all the intellectual,
mental, and material powers of the papacy, reaching its apex in the next
century with Innocent III, Gregory IX, and Boniface VIII. But they
reached the climax of a sensuous perfection ; each was "drawn back by his
lesser and more material self," and failed to grasp his heritage. It was
a French King who was the saint; it was to France that one must look
for spiritual fruitfulness, inside as well as outside the Church.

In France, while official religion strayed from its true course,
Charlemagne arose, and, taking the fluctuating and undecided barbarian
world in his powerful hands, gave it form and organization, and by
making Rome its central point, showed that it must rest of necessity
upon the ancient civilization, purified and transformed by Christianity.
Charlemagne died, and his work dissolved; but the potency of his
achievement remained imbedded in the heart of France, his genius for
order and kingship giving unity to the scattered aspirations of his people,
and standing as a landmark to which future generations strove to attain.

When the last desperate stand of barbarism was finally broken by
Hugh Capet (987), and feudal society appeared, the era of modern
civilization began; and its point of departure was again pre-eminently
France. It was French feudalism which settled England under William
I, which entered Italy with Robert Guiscard, Spain with Burgundian
Henry, and even the Holy Land with Godfrey of Bouillon. It was
French knights who called into existence the military orders, chivalry,
and aristocratic nobility; who conceived the ideals of courage, purity,
devotion, and gallantry which are the highest fulfilment of the Christian
life. It was a French monk, St. Bernard, who governed all Europe,
and who gave the constitution to the Knights Templars. Finally, the
Crusades, which were to bring the full tide of the ancient and oriental
civilizations back to Europe, were the response of chivalrous France to
the rescue of a menaced Christianity and of a desecrated Holy Land.
"It is a very striking fact that the First Crusade was almost entirely
French in conception and execution. The idea was that of a French
Pope; it was first preached in France, and its most inspiring preacher
was a French hermit; its leaders and its language were both French;
so was the bulk of the rank and file — so much so that, to an Eastern,
Europeans were for centuries known simply as 'Franks.' But above all,
the spirit of the Crusade was French. Beginning in France, it ended
in the establishment of a veritable miniature France in the East."28

mA History of France, J. R. Moreton Macdonald, rol. I, p. 104.

190 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

The Crusades represent a culminating period in France, a distinct
cyclic node. It was French unity and French fidelity which made this
possible ; and the outward causal manifestations were her religious unity,
her language, and her royal dynasty of Capetians. The heart of her
religion lay in the ideal of a knightly priest, a consecrated warrior,
together with the devotion and vigour of her monastic orders. Her
religion produced at once a Roland and a Godfrey of Bouillon, a St.
Louis and a St. Bernard, an Albertus Magnus and a St. Thomas. Her
orders on the secular side produced the Chansons de Gestes and the
Grail legends; and the flawless Gothic cathedrals, — Rheims, Chartres,
Paris, Amiens, and Bourges. It is hard to realize to-day that all that
was finest in that civilization came from religious centres. But in every
sphere — chivalry, poetry, art, kings and statesmen, popes, sainted bishops
and monks, models of knighthood, poets, architects, sculptors, and
artisans — all were stamped and enriched by the religious devotion which
was at once catholic and French. The Crusades, which gave an ideal
as well as practical direction to all this energy, brought to full conscious-
ness the sense of national being. The consequent self-confidence and
self-respect improved industrial development, effected the growth of
schools and universities; and France may be said to have had the
abiding sense that she was fulfilling her destiny and working out the
purposes of her existence.

No single external factor acted more to establish French unity
than her royal line of kings. The Capetians are unique for having an
unbroken lineal succession, from father to son, for thirteen generations
from the original founder; a period extending over 341 years; — which
is a fact unparalleled in any other dynasty recorded in authentic history.
Hugh Capet was descended from Pepin d'Heristal and Qovis, so he
transmitted the royal blood of France. Three of his descendants are
described as saints — Robert II, Louis VII, and the great Louis IX.
"The royal house of France was distinguished above all other sovereign
houses of the Christian world, not only for the scrupulous uprightness
of its heads . . . but more still, for the very real qualities of a
majority of the princes of the fleur de lys, as the princes of the XIV
and XV centuries were called, who were a collateral line of the Capetian
dynasty."29 It is not generally known, moreover, that the kings of
France were also priests — "a royal priesthood." They were, by right of
an ancient tradition, canons of St. Martin ; they wore the priestly dalmatic
under their royal mantle at their coronation — or rather consecration —
and they communicated in both kinds, as only priests are permitted to
do in the Roman Church. "These ceremonials of consecration (du sacre)

" Originis de la Notionalitt Franfaitt, Auguste Longnon, p. 85.

ALSACE AND LORRAINE 191

received practically no modification in France from the XIII century
until the Revolution."80

It was Philip Augustus (1180-1226) who began to reap the first
harvests for France. His father left him a kingdom neither very large,
nor very rich, nor very well defined; he had said truly that "Nos in
Francia nihil habemus nisi panem et vinum et gaudium"31 ; — but Philip
caught his spirit, and the time was ripe. He not only made his family
during the forty-six years of his reign the richest in Europe, adding
Artois, Amiens, Valois, Clermont, Normandy, Maine, Anjou, and Tour-
raine directly to his crown; but he first seriously disputed with German
kings the possession of Flanders and Alsace-Lorraine. In this he, and
his successors, were frequently aided by the deliberate reversion of the
local populace to the French dynasty, to whom alone unity of sentiment
and loyalty could be given. France was an entity, had a spirit, stood
for a principle, revealed a richness of creative genius and an authori-
tative culture which far surpassed anything that contact with Germany
could give. When France was finally able once more to reach out after
her outlying provinces, she revived in them the same age-old traditions
of a past union under Celt and Greek and Roman that she herself had
re-awakened in her own consciousness. That former union was a thing
of the spirit. To it the heart of Alsace-Lorraine responded; and we
see one of the bitterest and most prolonged of conflicts waged between
the might of German princes and the crown of France for the rescue
of this portion of the French domain.

The success of France in these wars, and the sentiments of Alsace-
Lorrainers towards France, will be considered in the concluding section.

A. G.

80 La Grande Encyclopedic. Sacre, vol. 19, p. 33. Quicherat says, Histoire du Costume En
France, p. 112, that Charles the Bald wore the dalmatic at his consecration (sacre) in 875,
"dans le tenue de 1'empereur de Constantinople." Cf. pp. 161 and 229 — "Christine de Pisan 1'a
caracterisee par la double epithete, de royale et pontificale" — and 324. In a XII century docu-
ment— L'ordonnance a enoindre et a couronner le roy, the statement is clearly made, in certainly
one of its earliest forms, that "le roy et la royne doivent descendre de leurs eschaffaus et venir
humblement a 1'autel et prendre de la main a 1'arcevesque le corps et le sang notre Seigneur."
Cf. Collection de Documents Inedits sur I'Histoire de France, 1st Series, Archives Adminis-
trates De La Ville De Reims, by Varin;— tome I, (la) p. 530. Cf. also Dom G. Marlot,
Histoire de la Ville, Cite, et Universite de Reims, tome III, p. 790, and N. R. Camus-Daras,
Essai Historiques Sur La Ville de Rheims, 1823, pp. 418 & 423.

81 "We in France have nothing but bread, wine, and joy."

(To be concluded)

ON THE SCREEN OF TIME

*'r~Tr-vHERE are two kinds of reality," said the Sage. "There is

the reality of the physical world and there is the reality of

the spiritual world. Between them, there is the psychic world,

the world of fancy, of glamour, of illusion. Yet there are

not two realities, but one reality."

"It sounds like the Athanasian Creed," remarked the Youth, with
a grin.

The Sage laughed. We had been discussing the League of Nations.
The Sage had described it as a "psychic counterfeit." Now he was
explaining.

"The physical world, when uncontaminated by man, although it has
not yet evolved to the point of expressing perfectly the spiritual fact
to which it approximates, is none the less an approximation and not a
perversion. A flower, for instance, may express with extraordinary
fidelity in the substance of this plane, that real flower which is itself
in the spiritual world, and which, in the spiritual world, is an entity,
manifesting some fraction of the divine life."

"One moment," interrupted the Student. "Do you mean that the
flower on this plane does not manifest some fraction of the divine life?"

"I do not," replied the Sage. "Quite the contrary. I mean that
the physical flower does manifest the divine life in the substance of the
physical plane. A child is a reality. Yet a child is not a man. Potential
manhood is latent within the child, and some day, should the child live,
full manhood may manifest through him. To imagine that the child is
a man; to expect of the child that which you have a right to expect
of a man — in conduct and understanding and sense of responsibility —
would obviously be a failure to recognize fact as fact, and, if done
sincerely, would be due to psychic illusion."

"Most students of eastern philosophies make a serious mistake at
that very point," commented the Orientalist. "Told to discriminate
between the real and the unreal, they imagine the material world is
included in the unreal, and then try to rid themselves of belief in its
reality. No one has more respect for a fact than the true oriental
philosopher, though the Orient is full of those who try to persuade
themselves that everything on this side of Brahman is an illusion. But
please continue," he added apologetically, turning to the Sage.

"My point is," replied the Sage, "that the physical world is real,
although undeveloped. The spiritual world is real, and is fully
developed, — except in so far as it is in process of obtaining full
expression in and through the substance of the physical world. It is
the psychic world which is wholly illusory, and which projects over the
facts of the physical world a distortion of something real in the spiritual

192

ON THE SCREEN OF TIME 193

world. Every so-called temptation of any kind is a psychic glamour
and no more. We are never 'tempted' by a fact. It is the imagination
that something is a fact, which in truth is not a fact, which 'tempts' us.
This imagination is the product of a distorted reflection from the spiritual
world, projected on and, as it were, plastered over a fact of the physical
world."

"Are you using imagination as synonymous with fancy?" asked the
Student.

"I am afraid I am, and, strictly speaking, I have no business to do
so. The imagination, the 'image-making faculty,' which, as you will
remember, is spoken of as Kriyashakti in the Secret Doctrine, is one of
the greatest powers we possess. It is so rarely used, however; there
are so few who deliberately visualize their ideal, and who then use the
power of Kundalini to give that visualization concrete expression in this
world, — that the term 'imagination' has come to be employed, though
wrongly, as practically synonymous with its psychic counterfeit, that is
to say, with fancy."

"I want to go back," said the Youth, "to a place where I interrupted.
What do you mean, please, when you say that there are not two realities
but one reality?"

"I mean," replied the Sage, "that spiritual life and physical life
are one, — one as life and one as world ; that the psychic world — in essence
delusion — divides them; and that the division is therefore an illusion
also. When a man has risen above the psychic world, has torn its veils
aside, he beholds finally and forever the one reality. More than that,
perhaps, he is aware of it in himself.

"Because a man does not identify himself with his coat, we are not
justified in presuming that he denies the existence of the coat, or the
usefulness of the coat, or his need of it. So of the body; and of all
that belongs to the substance of material life. When a man sees this
not merely theoretically, but in actual sustained consciousness, he is freed
from the illusions of the psychic world. It has been said of these that
they shall never taste of death. How can that die which at all points
and at all times knows itself to be alive?"

"I wish you would give a practical instance of the process you
were describing," said the Student.

"Well," replied the Sage, "there is always the League of Nations.
In that case you have on the one hand a spiritual fact, — the identity
of all souls with the Oversoul. You have the Lodge, and the hierarchy
of those who belong to it. You have, on the other hand, the world as
at present constituted, made up of people whose natures and whose
duties are totally different from those who are in the Lodge. Between
these two worlds (though I must repeat that in fact there are not two
worlds but one world) you have the psychic world, or the world of
the average man's mind. He catches a glimpse of the spiritual reality,
13

194 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

as reflected and distorted on the surface of his psychic nature. That
same psychic nature projects this distortion over the facts of the physical
world. Making no allowances for difference of nature and of duty;
failing to realize that what is suitable for a grown man is often most
unsuitable for an infant, — the psychic nature jumps to the conclusion
that that which it has recognized as an ideal must immediately be
applicable in all directions, regardless of circumstances, and of course
regardless of facts. It is exactly the same process as that which takes
place in the case of some very young man, who sees an actress on the
stage, and whose psychic nature envelops her with all the charms and
virtues which he has sensed as existing in the ideal woman of his
dreams."

"What do you mean when you say that the duties of people in the
physical world are not the same as the duties of those in the Lodge?"

"This : the government of a nation is in the position of a trustee.
The government does not own the nation. The wealth and the lives of
the governed are not the property of the Executive. If I am appointed
trustee of a large estate, the property of a friend who has intrusted me
with his possessions so that I may conserve and use them for the benefit
of his children, surely I would not be justified in adopting the attitude
that now, at last, I have my chance to contribute large sums of money,
out of my friend's estate, for the relief, let us say, of the Jews in
Palestine or of the poor of New York City. I am a trustee; and my
sole duty is to protect the interests of the children of my friend. Is
it not evident that the Executive of a nation is in exactly the same
position? England and France, at the present time, are being called
"grasping" by irresponsible writers in this country. It is alleged, for
instance, that England has obtained commercial advantages as the result
of her government of India. It is intimated that if the British Govern-
ment had been actuated by proper motives, care would have been taken
that no advantage whatsoever would have resulted from the government
of India. But the fact is that it would be absolutely unjustifiable for
the British Government to govern India at the expense of the British
people. To govern justly, and in such a way that the people governed
are truly benefited, is of course essential. But to confuse a trusteeship
with a charitable institution, and to attempt to impose any such standard
of conduct on the governments of the world, results in hopeless confusion
and in positive wrong-doing. For instance, at the present time, British
troops are being withdrawn from Armenia. The dreamers of the United
States Government have insisted so emphatically that no nation may
derive commercial or other practical benefits from the occupation of
foreign territory, that they have made it impossible for the Government
of Great Britain to justify the expenditure of money or the sacrifice of
life which would be involved in maintaining an army in Armenia. Fifty
years ago, that army would have been left there; would have saved the

ON THE SCREEN OF TIME 195

Armenians from massacre by the Turks; would have established a just
government and would have reimbursed the estate of which it was agent
by using the great oil wells of Baku for the benefit of the British
nation and people. In other words, fifty years ago, the British Govern-
ment would have justified the occupation of Armenia as a sound
commercial investment, — and on no other conceivable basis could there
be warrant for the expenditure of life and treasure out of trust funds.
"The dreamers of the American Government, whose psychic natures
have perverted their time sense, and who see things as possible to-day
which will not be possible until humanity as a whole desires to emulate
the spirit and methods of the Lodge, have claimed credit for confusing
their function with that of a charitable institution. They seem to think
that it is their duty to spend the life and treasure of the American
people in any part of the world and at any time, as their own
"consciences" may dictate. They probably took part in the Great War
on just that basis. If so, they were wrong. An individual, as such,
has a perfect right to give his life or his wealth for any purpose which
he regards as worthy of such a sacrifice. Hundreds of thousands of
Americans took part in the war, in that spirit and with that ideal in
mind. But the Government of the nation had no business to participate
unless convinced that it was necessary in order to preserve the life of
the nation or in any case its best interests : because a government is a
trustee.

"Now the Lodge, on the other hand, is a charitable institution. It
works for all men equally. This does not mean that it gives to all men
equally, any more than it receives from all men equally. None the less,
it exists for the benefit of humanity as a whole, while the government
of a nation is supposed to exist for the benefit of the nation governed.
If the father of a family becomes so 'international' in spirit as to consider
that all the other children on his street are just as much his concern
and responsibility as his own children, he is quite obviously taking to
himself a function which is not his. If he should attempt to perform
it, the probability is that his neighbours will not thank him for his
'ideals' !"

"But if the Lodge can work for all men equally, and the Lodge is
the ideal, why should not the nations model themselves on that ideal?
Why would not the League of Nations be a step toward such an ideal ?"
The Youth put the question.

"When the children are grown up, they can and must take upon
them the responsibilities of men," responded the Sage. "When the
nations see as the Lodge sees, when the psychic veils are rent; when
the psychic faculties are atrophied, and the spiritual faculties in perfect
function, then, as in the Lodge, we shall have one Empire composed of
many Kingdoms, all as fixed in their obedience as the stars in heaven, —
the perfect order of a perfect discipline and a completed understanding.

196 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

Then shall we have again the rule of Adept-Kings, but in an age more
golden than any the world has known; and the humblest peasant
ploughing in his field shall be a disciple, following the guidance of his
Master as he plows."

There was a silence after this was said. Something of the splendour
of the promise stirred the group of friends, and brought a whiff of
higher air.

Then the Historian spoke : "It seems to me that you have suggested
the explanation of Bolshevism. Assuming that there are some sincere
people among the Bolsheviki, their illusions must be due to psychic
glamour. They have projected over the facts of life an image of their
own imagination or fancy, and they are behaving in consequence as men
always do behave in those circumstances. Even the French Revolution
was the result of a psychic perversion of Universal Brotherhood."

"Do not forget, either, that lack of restraint is of the very essence
of the psychic nature." This was said by the Philosopher, who had been
listening attentively, and who, I knew, had been awaiting his chance
to contribute. "The green young man whom the Sage used as an awful
example, notoriously goes off his head if he permits his psychic
imagination to run away with him. He throws overboard his self-
restraint; loses all sense of proportion, and is prepared to sell his birth-
right, both temporary and eternal, for the mess of pottage which he
fancies is the nectar of the gods. Whether it be explained as a reaction
from the high tension of the war, or as a reaction from the failure to
fight the war to a finish, we all know that at the present time the
spirit of Bolshevism is present everywhere. A man is a fool who does
not recognize it in himself, and who is not doubly suspicious of his
own fancies and desires and moods. License always begins in the
imagination. If it be not checked there, it will inevitably result in action.

"Self-indulgence is undoubtedly the path by which psychic glamour
approaches us. Even the green youth could not be carried away by his
fancy unless previous small self-indulgences had thrown open the door of
his nature to the inrush of those psychic waters. Naturally, also, further
self-indulgence strengthens the grip of glamour over him, so that he
easily persuades himself that his sin and folly are justifiable and perhaps
heroic. His will being set wrongly, drags out of the psychic world a
reason, a persuasion, to justify itself."

"Speaking of calf-intoxication," said the Historian, "suggests that
all matters of sex are being discussed and treated on Bolshevist principles
by people who have no least idea of what they are doing, as well as
by those who know perfectly. Eugenics is only another name for the
nationalization of sex. Birth control is only another name for legiti-
mized license. The first means the degradation of slavery; the second
means degradation by indulgence, — the abandonment of self-restraint
and the escape, by prostituted Science, from consequences."

"What do you think of the modern fad for 'sex instruction'?" asked
the Student.

ON THE SCREEN OF TIME 197

"Detestable," the Philosopher replied. "The excuse for it is that
children are certain to sin in any case, so it is the duty of parents and
of the State to teach them how to do so with the least damage to their
physical health. You might as well argue that as every child is going
to steal as soon as he has the chance, it is the duty of his parents to
teach him how to do so without getting into trouble with the police."

"But," commented the Student, "there are those who urge that young
girls especially should be told a great deal, so that they may be in a
position to protect themselves, — so that they may not be ignorant of
certain dangers."

"I know," the Philosopher answered. "Yet that again is a theory
based upon desire for self-indulgence: the self-indulgence of parents
who are too lazy or too pleasure-loving to be willing to look after their
daughters; the self-indulgence of daughters, who resent restraint and
who make life at home intolerable unless they are allowed to do as- they
choose."

"I have seen parents well snubbed by their children," commented
the Orientalist, "for having dared to ask them where they had been
and what they had done ! And the question had been asked, not from
a sense of responsibility, but with mild and rather timid interest. To
blame the children would be ridiculous. The parents, though eminently
respectable people in the eyes of the world, in the eyes of the gods
were criminals."

"Bolshevism, after all, is only a term," remarked the Sage at this
point. "It has come into general use because never in the history of
the world, so far as we know it, have the spirit of anarchy, the spirit
of rebellion, the spirit of class hatred and the spirit of unbridled greed
and lust and envy, found such free expression as through the Bolsheviki
in Russia. But the same spirit is found in many quarters where the
Bolsheviki are denounced. It is found, as you have been saying, in
nearly all matters pertaining to sex, — rebellion against restraint and
against self-restraint, being two of the forms it is taking. But in the
world of industry (to use an absurd misnomer), and in trade unions
which officially denounce Bolshevism, the spirit of the thing is paramount.
Trade unionism is rapidly becoming organized pillage. During the war
the trade unions of England and America, while professing to co-operate
with their respective Governments, actually 'held them up/ and, by a
system of blackmail, formed themselves into a 'government within the
government.' This was done, not for the benefit of the poorer classes —
for it is the poor, ultimately, who suffer most by the increased cost of
production; and not even for the benefit of the different trades, but
solely for the benefit of the unions and of their relatively small
membership."

"Did you notice, by the way," asked the Historian, "that Dean Inge,
at a recent meeting of the People's League in London, is reported to
have said that he was not hostile to trade unions, but that they had

198 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

become 'huge capitalistic concerns which were engaged in financing raids
upon the people' ? He went on to say that 'with them it is not a struggle
between rich and poor; it is open brigandage against the community.
They are a new privileged class, determined that those privileges shall
not go outside themselves. They are shutting down employment, not
only against discharged soldiers, but wounded men.' "

"I am glad he said it," responded the Sage. "The Church has
been characteristically sentimental and weak in its attitude toward labour
— full of fancies and notions, and hopelessly devoid of insight. If Inge
is waking up, he may wake up others. I know a clergyman in this
country who is famous for his supposed sympathy for the poor, but who
never enters a working man's house if he can avoid it, because he declares
that it makes him ill : he cannot stand the sight of poverty ; it lacerates his
feelings. The explanation is that his idol is his own comfort. He
loves luxury, and beautiful and costly surroundings. He has the most
intense horror of poverty for himself. He sees it in terms of horror.
A curious interpretation, if it be one, of Christ's attitude toward it!"

"What will be the outcome of it all?" asked the Youth, rather
dejectedly. "I am beginning to wish that I were old instead of young,
because if heaven amount to anything at all, it must be preferable to
the everlasting mix-up on earth."

We were distinctly amused. The Youth saw himself dealing single-
handed with all these problems, the rest of us comfortably watching him
from heaven. Incidentally it was a compliment, — although, for that
matter, he had expressed equal confidence about his own destination.

But the Sage took him seriously. "What will be the outcome?" he
repeated. "Why, the world will become so tired of 'the intolerable
burden of its own will' (you remember that phrase of St. Bernard's?),
that it will appeal at last to whatever gods there be to come down and
govern it. Yes — it will appeal long and often, in sore distress and with
bitter wailing. And though the high gods will not come, they will send ;
and later they will come, and then, as I said before, we shall have
the rule of the Adept-Kings, and peace. But now, with most men
worshipping nothing but their own wills, and incapable of seeing that
the cause of all their misery lies in that, — they must have time and
more time in which to pile up the agony of their discontent, until
discontent with circumstances becomes discontent with self, and discon-
tent with self is cast, as our one possession, at the feet of God."

There was a movement to adjourn. "Before we break up," said the
Ancient, "I should like to say something which has special application
to students of Theosophy in Germany, but which should throw some
light also, I think, on the opportunity and responsibility of members of
the Society everywhere. ... A French newspaper correspondent,
after visiting Berlin, reports that an unusually enlightened German, an
artist, remarked to him : 'We still live enchained by the falsities of the
past. We are incapable of judging this past or of conceiving of a future
different from it. We must put ourselves in the school of life's realities.'

ON THE SCREEN OF TIME 199

"There, clearly set forth, is a function which students of Theosophy
in Germany ought to be able to perform. They ought to be able to see
and to understand thoroughly the mistakes their people have made ; the
cause of those mistakes; the deeply-seated wickedness which is that
cause, and, seeing these things from the very beginning of the war, they
ought to-day to be leading their nation in insight and in right revolt
against the German past. Looking back over fifty years, they should
be able to see the development of all those tendencies in their people
which culminated in the immoral savagery with which Germany let loose
and conducted her war for world dominion. They have no excuse for
ignorance. The QUARTERLY has told them all they need to know, —
though they should have known it even without the help of the
QUARTERLY, just from an understanding of theosophical principles.
It is the opportunity of their lives. More important than that, it is the
supreme opportunity, through them, of Theosophy in Germany. If,
even to-day, they are unable to see the truth, and their duty; if, for
instance, the German artist I have quoted sees more clearly than they
do, — must it not follow that they have never understood the elements
of Theosophy and, for that reason, have never, in the real sense, been
members of the Society? What a chance they have! What endless
good they might do! A brave declaration of principles; a fearless
insistence that sin must be expiated, that obedience to divine law is the
only salvation for nations as for individuals, — would make of them the
leaven which might rouse the deadened conscience of thousands of their
people."

"But suppose they do not understand?" the Objector questioned.

The Youth answered. "There are many things which I do not
understand," he said. "But I have learned that faith will sometimes
see one through when understanding fails. Students of Theosophy in
Germany, whether members or not, can never say that they lacked
leadership when their test came. They might have had faith enough
in certain writers for the QUARTERLY, whom they knew as old and tried
members and as pupils of Mr. Judge, to have lifted them over the pitfall
of racial prejudice and to have given them all the light they needed.
If they fail, it will be due quite as much to lack of faith as to lack of
understanding. And it need not have been blind faith either. A young
and inexperienced doctor does not feel humiliated but thankful when,
bewildered by symptoms, the root condition is pointed out to him by
some old consultant."

"You are right," said the Sage. "But you presuppose a one-pointed
desire for the truth, regardless of consequences to self, and regardless
also of pride, prejudice, and preconception."

"I know I do," the Youth answered. "But allowing for the initial
impulse of such lower motives, surely, once we recognise our mistakes,
it is altogether contemptible to be unwilling to admit them."

"It is," said the Sage. And thereupon the meeting adjourned.

T.

LETTERS TO STUDENTS

September 17th, 1910

DEAR

Please let me begin with what I fear is my usual apology for
writing to you on the type-writer and for the delay in replying. It is
the truth, however, that I have been exceptionally busy all this summer,
so much so that I have been unable to get away at all and I do not
know when the pressure will let up.

I should like to begin by commenting on a purely incidental point
in your letter. You speak of the appalling amount of misery which one
sees around one. Yes, there is an appalling amount of misery in the
world, but we can err in our attitude toward it if we are not careful.
We should never forget that it is put there deliberately by the great and
loving powers of the universe for the good which it does. We should
look upon it as we do upon the pain which a surgeon inflicts when
performing a necessary operation. It is deplorable, it wrings our hearts,
but we would not have it otherwise, and above all, we must not let our
sympathy for the patient in any way whatever prevent his getting the
good of the operation. We have a righteous contempt for the person
who is so sentimental that he cannot stand the sight of suffering and
can be of no use in a sick room. So we must not let this idea of the
suffering in the world shake our calm; disturb our ability to do what
we can to correct it.

The old saying that whom the gods love dies young, can be para-
phrased in occultism by whom the gods help most, suffers most. We
ought not to wish it otherwise if we could. And the fact that much
of this suffering seems to us useless because of the ignorance of the
sufferers, arises from our ignorance, from our limited point of view.

It is appalling to think how little we can do to help all this, and
that, I think, is the reason why we ourselves should try so hard to grow
to a point where our force and knowledge and power will be a great
influence for good. Therefore let this idea of the suffering in the world
be a constant stimulus to us; let it fill our hearts so full of a burning
desire to help that it will burst the trammels of our natures and remove
the restrictions which are now limiting our powers of usefulness. Unless
we do use the feelings which the contemplation of suffering gives rise to
in some such way as this, I think we waste much power in a meaningless
and sentimental sympathy.

I should like to take immediate exception to your statement that
you cannot in this life or in many lives hope to become a chela, still less
an adept. Please pardon me if I flatly contradict you. You can become
a chela in this life, and you should try to do so. You, for all I know,
may be able to become an adept in this life also. Both things are
possible and no one who is not familiar with the accumulated Karma
of your past can possibly tell whether you can do these things or not.
For all you know you may have almost reached chelahood in the past;

zoo

LETTERS TO STUDENTS 201

there may be only one small obstacle keeping you back from a complete
realization of your hopes, and that obstacle may melt away and be
eliminated by the next effort of will which you are called upon to make.
It is more likely that you have much still to overcome, many powers
to acquire; but there is no reason to suppose that you cannot overcome
these faults, cannot acquire these powers in this life. On the contrary,
you should always assume that you can and that you will. You should
act from moment to moment as if the very next moment would see you
standing in the presence of the Master, to receive his congratulations
upon the successful accomplishment of your age-long task. You cannot
tell, and it would not be well for you to know. It may come in this
next minute, in a week, a year, ten years, ten lives; but what difference
does it make. Always assume that it is going to be very soon, and live
in that thought and from that point of view. Otherwise you will never
be ready. Remember that the way to become a chela is to act as if you
already were one.

You answer your own question about killing the lunar body. It is
the body of desire which we build up gradually by our low desires.
We must not only stop having these desires, which is what is meant by
cleaning the mind and heart, but we must actually destroy the body
which our old desires have created. Fortunately for us, this killing of
the desire body is done automatically. It goes on as we transmute the
substance of the lunar body, and that is done by living the life faithfully
and consciously as we all know very well how to do.

With kindest regards, I am,

Very sincerely yours,

C. A. GRISCOM.

November 26th, 1910
DEAR

I was much interested in your letter of the llth. As usual, you
suggest the answers to your own questions, which is as it should be,
for we never really acquire knowledge from another. We must work
it all out for ourselves. Another may confirm a belief, or may suggest
a side issue which was overlooked by the querent ; but we are all incapable
of understanding anything until we are that thing in our own lives.

Just one word about meditation. Do not forget that the personality
cannot meditate. It is only the soul. We should keep this idea in the
mind, or in the consciousness, when we try to meditate; we should
deliberately try to do it with the highest part of us which we can reach
up to. If we do not try some such method, we shall pass the time of
meditation in more or less badly controlled mental activity. It is of
course the mind which interferes with us in meditation. "The mind is
the slayer of the real." The disciple must learn to "slay the slayer."
And the way to do this is, as a rule, not to face it and try to dominate
it, but to slide past and ignore it.

With reference to your question about Karma. It is instant in the

202 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

sense that the minute we commit some fault or break some law, the
readjusting force begins to act. If we eat imprudently, we instantly
engage the forces needed to digest the difficult food. We may have
enough of such force to digest that food that time, and many other times,
but we have used up that force nevertheless, and the time will come
when it is all used up and we begin to suffer from indigestion. It would
be quite incorrect in one sense to say that Karma only began to act in
this matter when we began to suffer, and yet that is the usual way of
referring to it. It is obviously at every instant that we violate the laws
of the universe, that the opposing force begins to act; but it depends
upon countless circumstances when that opposing force will work out
in some observable way. It may be in a few minutes, or not for many
lives; but in either case it began on the instant and worked ceaselessly
until the cause was exhausted. Often it will never work out on the
physical plane, but will be neutralized by some opposing force on the
inner planes, just as, in the homely illustration I have used, it will be
possible, by exercise and outdoor work, to neutralize the harm of
improper eating. But we had to work off the harm just the same. My
illustration is faulty, as are most illustrations, because we have left out
the moral question involved; but the same law works there.

I must stop now and go out, so please pardon an abrupt ending
of my letter.

With kindest regards, I am, Sincerely,

C. A. GRISCOM.

May 28th, 1911
PEAR

********

I wonder whether you have realized while reading this, that the
train of thought which prompted it all is the conviction that this is not
the first time we have been associated together, have worked together
in the only kind of work that makes life worth living? For it is so,
I am sure.

I do not mean in what I have said above, to limit your connection
with the present work to me in any way. I have no doubt that you are
quite as closely connected with several of the others as you are with
me, and I am by no means certain that such connection may not be even
more intimate with some of the others ; but the fact that we have worked
directly has tended to bring that side of it out first.

All of which is useful only if it has something in it of inspiration
for the future, as I believe it has. I know of no stimulus equal to the
knowledge of a long line of similar efforts, of no tie equal to that based
upon relations which go back several incarnations, of no inspiration
greater than the consciousness that what we are doing now is what we
have been trying to do for five thousand years and is what we shall be
doing for the next millennium. . . .

Sincerely,

C. A. GRISCOM.

DEAR

LETTERS TO STUDENTS 203

November 7th, 1911

There are two general types of disciples: monks and knights (with
of course their feminine counterparts). We have all had incarnations
during which we developed the qualities essential to one or the other
of these two types, and we have had many incarnations of each. Not
all of the members of the T. S. of course. I am speaking of the "flowers
of the flock." The work of self-development, when in either kind of
incarnation, has of course been greatly hampered by lack of consciousness
of what we really were, and were trying to do. This is particularly the
case when we have incarnated for a knightly incarnation, for the calls
of the world pull more heavily in such an environment. It is a sacrifice
we have often made deliberately because the world needed that kind of
work at that time.

This time we are not monks and nuns, but the trend of the incar-
nation, for all of us, is in the purely devotional direction, with the very
important difference from ordinary times that we know what we are
about. This is the great work which the survival of the Movement
has made possible. For the first time in history it is possible to try to
amalgamate the militant with the purely devotional ideal, and to create
in the world a body of people more like the old military orders of
monks, which were attempts to establish a real ideal. We must com-
bine in our persons the devotion, self-sacrifice and self-surrender of the
monk, with the fighting qualities, courage and hardihood of the knight,
both to be tempered by gentleness, courtesy, and the dignity which comes
from a consciousness that we are the servants and warriors of the Master.
Is it not an inspiring and an appealing ideal?

The regeneration of the western world and the success of Christianity
itself are wrapped up in our ability to make this ideal live in our hearts
and become externalized in our actions and our lives. It is a trumpet
call to battle which should appeal to the highest and the best which is in
each one of us.

With kindest regards, I am

Very sincerely yours,

C. A. GRISCOM.

P. S. This letter is written from the masculine point of view. A
woman should not, of course, try to develop in herself the masculine
qualities of knighthood. A queen of chivalry is more the ideal which
would correspond to the knightly ideal : gentleness, courtesy and dignity
of course; courage, yes, but also sweetness, femininity, — the power to
inspire the knight, to give him his high ideal.

Living Bayonets, by Coningsby Dawson, published by John Lane. — The books
by this author have always been reviewed in the QUARTERLY, so that extensive
notice of this one would entail too much of repetition. We can only comment
again on the splendid spirit and vitality of the man as shown in his letters, — this
book being, in the style of Carry On, letters sent his family from the front. Many
of us have found no books, in English, written on the war as satisfactory as these.
They express the high water mark of the Englishman's splendid sense of good
sport, of honour, of responsibility; courage, cheerfulness, a high ideal of duty.

I was amazed one day to hear them characterized as "sentimental," and I
wondered (though I really should have spared myself the pains) if the critic had
the least conception of the way he illustrated a certain phase of American cheapness.

There is a deepening of tone in this book. One sees the maturing effect of
war experience. The indulgence for the Hun has passed : he can no longer be con-
sidered as an "enemy," and therefore entitled to all the courtesies of war. He
has proved himself a horror in the world, something to be exterminated. "After
four years of gallant smiling," Lieutenant Dawson writes in well turned phrase,
"our soldiers have attained a righteous anger — a determination to exact a just
revenge. They no longer make lenient discriminations between Germany and her
rulers. They know now that the breath of every individual German is tainted
with the odour of carnage." It took England long to learn that lesson — it goes
against the English grain: — pray heaven it may take her longer to forget it.
America, save in isolated instances, has not learned it at all ; the commercial
instinct is too strong, the love of pleasure stronger still.

These are the closing lines of the book (if only they could be read by people
in high places here, without deaf ears!) : "If at the first whimpering our hearts
are touched and we allow the evil to escape its punishment, it will sneak off with a
cunning leer about its mouth to lick its wounds into health that it may take a
future generation unawares. Mercy at this juncture would be spiritual slovenliness.
God has given the Allies a task to accomplish; He has made us His avengers that,
when our work is ended, He may create a new heaven and earth." In that light,
how does the armistice appear, or the abortive "peace"? A new heaven and earth
of God's creating, and in place of that we chose — Bolshevism! Barabbas for the
Christ again. Only he who loses his life can save it. Some of the soldiers learned
this lesson, the foundation of Christianity, of Occultism, of life; the politicians, —
never !

There is another aspect of these books of great interest to all students of
Theosophy, the religious aspect, and the way the subject of religion is approached.
It is sincere, ever-present, reverent, almost devout. There is no doubt that the
young man is a "believer"; that his faith sustained and strengthened him in what
he had to endure. But, I was going to say, that is the amazing part of it — a faith
so abstract, so nebulous! A Law, a Principle, "a divine, far off event," — one
wonders how terror and thirst and carnage and wounds were endured on meta-
physics. Honour indeed to those who stood the test. But it is not strange that
many did not, and wandered into the hands of the Catholic priests who gave them
warmth and substance with which to meet the agony of their days. The Catholic
has always brought this reproach against the Protestant, and rightly. The Catholic

204

REVIEWS 205

is human in his faith, and in his recognition of human needs. The Protestant is
too detached, too angelic; faith and daily living are too far separated. God, as
an all pervading spirit, is too far away for simple homely needs, or for times of
bitter pain; and, as a result, faith and practice are too often widely different.
Yet those who can find sustenance in that rarefied atmosphere, do well. Theosophy,
combining both, offers the solution. A marked contrast to this detached religious
outlook is found in many of the French books on the war, — and Lieutenant Dawson
does not understand the French, for all his admiration of them.

There is one thing that jars, and jars in all the Dawson books — their unreserve,
the extent to which the general public is taken into the intimacies of private and
domestic life. That is a serious flaw in taste; but otherwise one can find only
praise and gratitude. G.

Patriotism and Religion, by Shailer Matthews, Dean of the Divinity School,
Chicago, published by The Macmillan Company, $1.25; Christian Internationalism,
by William P. Merrill, published by The Macmillan Company, $1.50.

Professor Matthews' book is the less provocative of the two. It is a sincere
attempt to bring Patriotism and Religion together, — an achievement singularly diffi-
cult (and with reason) for the modern and "democratic" mind. He shares the
wide-spread feeling that: "This passion of service, this readiness to sacrifice health
and life for national ideals — what is it but a counterpart of religion?" (p. 5);
he sees also that: "Patriotism and religion alike are the expression of a nation's
inner life. If the morale of an army is a key to victory or defeat, the national
soul is the explanation of national futures and international struggles" (p. 6).

But, "patriotism and religion are both the product of social history." . . .
"Only where the spirit of democracy is working is there creative religious
thinking. Only there is the union of patriotism, and the religion of to-morrow.
For in democracy alone can the immanence of God be expressed in the terms of
human experience" (p. 32). These are indeed startling statements emanating
from a divinity school.

The Reverend Mr. Merrill, a prominent Presbyterian, who went to the Peace
Conference at Constance in 1914, exalts his concept of democracy in a kindred
field, and maintains that this divine righteousness of democracy, as we might call
it, is the only practical basis of right national relationships. "The man cannot be
wholly Christian," he premises, "until the world in which he lives is subject to
the rule of Christ" (p. 13). Epictetus, a "heathen," knew better than that! It
naturally follows : "Now this matter of democracy is a sacred matter. We come
nearer to the rule of God and the will of God through ascertaining the will of
the people and trusting the rule of the people than in any other way" (p. 72).
"Certainly we never hear vox dei more surely than when it speaks through vox
populi. A real democracy would be the best expression we could get of the rule
of God on earth. . . . Religion flourishes best when democracy is purest"
(p. 73).

These statements, from two such well-known writers, actually form the
intellectual basis for religion, for patriotism, and for international relationships,
in the minds of perhaps the majority to-day. Mr. Merrill's book particularly,
which is clearly, succinctly, and popularly written, expresses the thoughts one
sees reflected in the daily papers, and interprets the average mind. Democracy,
for the majority, has become a symbol for the millennium, just as the League
of Nations is a poor, perverted vision of the Kingdom of Christ. These repre-
sentative Christian writers are seeking a remedy for the evils in the world; and
they turn to fallen human nature, grown self-conscious and with the added
power of a more or less united voice — the ballot and the press — to redeem its
own failures. They never suggest turning to the Master.

Mr. Merrill inverts the true principles of life in almost every conception
of his book. It is not merely that he seeks the will of God in the ballot, and not

206 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

in the heart, where the Master said the kingdom was to be established, but he
states that "the cause of the people is the cause of God, and leads directly on to
the establishment of an international order" (p. 182). Mr. Merrill seems to mean
that he feels he would be doing God's will if he carried out the mandates of the
people. But his own conscience belies him when he criticises the Russian bolshe-
viki, because his conscience will not let him, apparently, accept their recent
fratricidal self-determinism as the will of God. Nor does he believe that the
manifest unity of the German people in wrongdoing was the will of God, because
he condemns Germany's conduct of the War. His typical argument that God's
voice is most surely heard in the will of the majority certainly fails, for sheer
lack of numbers, to support his own thesis that what the world wants most to-day,
what lies nearest to the hearts of the people of the whole world, is a League
of Nations, founded on his Christian democracy. For one thing, the Turks and
Germans seek to enter the League. Nor does he face the issue that on his own
premises, God's will is limited to the intelligence, education and integrity of the
average, which is not even a high standard from the ordinary point of view.
There is the added difficulty, that as the desires of different majorities in different
countries are diametrically opposed, therefore, apparently, God's will is pitted
against itself — which Christ disproved. Christ did not say that we should go to
the people for the will of God, but said that those who knew him, knew the Father.

Thinking founded on what seems to us to be a complete lack of logic, and
based on what appear as inversions of true principle, cannot carry conviction even
when certain conclusions are unequivocal. Thus, when Professor Matthews divides
patriotism into two kinds — that of democracy and that of autocracy, or Allied and
German respectively — and then deduces that the Allies should fight the Germans
because "love has stern duties just because it is love; not to fulfil these duties is
injustice to the victims of organized injustice" (p. 144), — the reader feels that
he has been trapped, unless he happen to have a modern mind.

Both books deserve the attention of QUARTERLY readers if they wish to see
what many to-day are thinking, and how they succeed in doing it.

MARION HALE.

Personal Christianity: A Science, being the doctrines of Jacob Boehme, the
"God-taught philosopher," with an Introduction and Notes by Dr. Franz Hart-
mann, is republished by the Macoy Publishing Company, New York, with a
Preface by B. Harding.

We notice that the writer of the Preface, a friend and associate of many
years ago, is entered as owner of the copyright. The probability is, therefore,
that he is responsible for this republication, — a valuable contribution to the literature
oi the theosophical movement, for which we owe him congratulations and thanks.

Boehme declared, in 1624, as Mr. Harding reminds us, that his writings, after
being rejected by his fatherland, would "in future days joyfully be taken up by
foreign nations." To say that his prophecy has already been fulfilled might seem
to suggest that he is popular. And he is not. We doubt if he ever will be. He
is difficult to read. But he was among the first to attempt a theosophic interpre-
tation of Christian symbolism. There is much in his writing that is truly inspired.
It is recorded of Charles I. of England that, after reading a translation of Boehme's
"Answers to Forty Questions," he exclaimed: "God be praised that there are still
men in existence who are able to give from their own experience a living testimony
of God and His Word." Claude de Saint Martin had the highest opinion of him,
writing to Kirchberger, — "I am not worthy to unloose the shoestrings of that
wonderful man." Students of Theosophy, not already familiar with Boehme's
writings, can appraise his spirit and method by this passage from his Six Points:
"Our whole doctrine is nothing else but an instruction to show how man may create
a Kingdom of light within himself. ... He in whom this spring of divine power
flows, carries within himself the divine image and the celestial substantiality. In
him is Jesus born from the Virgin, and he will not die in eternity." E. T. H.

ANSWERS

QUESTION No. 237.— We hear much to-day of "Internationalism" and "Leagues
of Peace" that, after the war, are to break down the "barriers" between nations
and make of all mankind one diznsionless brotherhood. What is a nation in the
real world as — let us say — the Lodge sees it, and what should be its true functions?
Can illustrations be given of the true purpose, functions, and destiny of existing
nations?

ANSWER. — "Internationalism" and "Leagues of Peace" surely must be included
among verbal tokens: they have their value just as money and cowrie shells have
theirs. But until the spiritual fact of Brotherhood is given a working reality
among men, the divisions between the nations will be accentuated by every increase
in material efficiency and prosperity. All these counters have their value in the
point of view from which one looks at them. And if the standard is that of self-
seeking and material prosperity, there will always be barriers between man and
man, and between nation and nation. It requires the sacrifice of self in obedience
to higher motives to enable a nation or an individual to enter a higher world, such
as that in which the Lodge lives and works. Consequently the Lodge views a
nation, surely, as the result and effect of the ideals which move and unite it, in
place of the interests which separate it. It requires more knowledge than I
possess to give such illustrations, but the student of history can estimate what
ideals of devotion and self-sacrifice the nations have arisen with and striven for.

A. K.

ANSWER. — What a nation is in the real world — "as the Lodge sees it" — I do
not know, but I will mention what I think about it.

As the real world is within or hid in the physical world, and as the real man
is within or hid in the physical man, so the real nations are within or hid in the
nations of the material world, the physical being the gross counterpart of the real.

And as there is an individuality or soul for each personality, so there is an
individuality or soul for each nation. This latter individuality is one in many,
a collective soul, consisting of all souls engaged in incarnation in that nation.
And in addition to the soul there is, in the real world, for each personality, and
for each nation, a Guardian Angel, who is ministering to the needs of the soul
according to the will of the presiding Deity. It is this Deity, the Superintendent
of all evolution, who by His ministers, the Guardians and Masters and Members
of the Lodge — and according to the Great Law or Karma — is dividing mankind
in races, tribes, nations, families and personalities, in order to provide such circum-
stances, opportunities and responsibilities as are necessary and most promote the
purpose of the soul, whether collective or separate.

And as a queen-bee leaves one hive, followed by many of her nation, settles
in another place and forms a new hive, a new bee-nation, so one part of a nation
may declare its independence and form a new nation, a small one maybe, but all
the same a nation. But the declaration of independence has already been settled
in the real world, or else it could never have come to pass. Even a single person-

207

208 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

ality cannot alter his nationality unless it has, for some reason or purpose,
been approved in the real world. Remember that "the hairs of your head are
all numbered."

The nations are different fields parcelled out in families and their members.
In due time and season, and according to the Law, the different seeds are sown in
the proper soil by the heavenly husbandmen in order to bring forth fruit abund-
antly. The crops may be rich or poor, or there may be no crops at all, according
to the will and work of the personality, whose purpose it is, at this stage of
evolution, to develop the divine power of discernment between good and evil,
between the immortal and the mortal, and of its own free will to choose between
the misery of the ephemeral life of the little self, wrapped up in the selfishness
of separate existence, and the bliss of immortal life in union with all other selves
in the One Universal Self. And the means to attain to this goal are the repeated
incarnations of the individuality under different circumstances in different races,
nations, families, castes, and among people of different creeds. It depends on the
needs of the soul, and the fruit brought home to it by the successive personalities,
if a new personality is to be developed, what its character will be, and in what
soil its seed is to be sown.

"The true purpose, functions and destiny of existing nations" seem therefore
to be to serve as one of the means by which souls are unified, thus preparing
mankind for the realization of the Universal Brotherhood on earth. And at the
same time the reincarnating egos are again and again offered an opportunity to
work out their salvation, or to seek union with the Over-Soul. When this union
is perfect the egos are no longer bound to return to this field of action, but can
as immortals remain forever in the real world. T. H. K.

ANSWER. — It has been said that "a true individuality is the complete embodi-
ment of a single purpose." This must be as true of a nation as of a man, and
perhaps we can get light on the true function of a nation in the eyes of the
Lodge by trying to imagine the true function of an individual as the Lodge sees
it.

It may help with the parallel to remember what Mr. Judge says of each one
of us being made up of countless "lives" for which we are responsible. Each
atom within us has life and consciousness of its own, yet each of us feels him-
self to be one and has no desire in the name of "brotherhood" to melt his person-
ality into a conglomerate mass of atoms with his neighbors, and turn mankind
into one great jelly-fish. J. M.

QUESTION No. 238. — Is not the Karma of hopeless insanity very hard to under-
stand? We know that the Path is always open for the sinner to turn, but mental
trouble seems like a door shut in the face.

ANSWER. — It would be impossible to understand without the doctrine of
reincarnation. Really "hopeless" insanity with no lucid intervals means the
complete withdrawal of the soul from that personality. It is very hard on those
who are left but it may be a great relief to a soul that has long struggled to
maintain a slender and precarious hold on an untamed and abnormal personality.

T. B.

COMMENT

JANUARY, 1920

The Theosophical Society, as such, is not responsible for any opinion
or declaration in this magazine, by whomsoever expressed, unless con-
tained in an official document.

THE PURPOSE AND PRINCIPLES OF THE THEOSOPHICAL SOCIETY

:T is wise from time to time to re-define the principles and purpose of
The Theosophical Society, to call vividly to mind our methods and
ultimate goal. Two sets of circumstances have recently arisen, which

provide a natural occasion for doing this : the first has to do with the
great war and Germany ; the second, with proposals made by members of
the Adyar organization, which still persists in calling itself a Theosophical
Society. Before we try to follow these out in detail, let us seek to reach
a general view of the true purpose of The Theosophical Society, its
final objective, as it appears to us; premising, as always, that The
Theosophical Society, as such, is in no way bound by this definition.

The Theosophical Society exists, it seems to us, for the sake of
humanity, and in particular for the sake of the soul, the spiritual
principle, in humanity; for mankind's immortal potencies, to foster and
further these. Whatever helps the spiritual life in mankind, or in
individual men and women and children, is, for that reason, entitled to
the active support of The Theosophical Society. Whatever hinders
man's spiritual life must, for the same reason, be an object of attack.
If, then, the dogmatic attitude of certain religious bodies is seen to fetter
and dwarf the souls of their adherents, this dogmatism must be actively
assailed, as was done by the illustrious author of Isis Unveiled, in
what was the first book of the present epoch of the Theosophical move-
ment. If the materialistic attitude of Science, or, to speak more truly,
of certain purblind followers of Science, is seen to deaden the soul, to
threaten the spiritual intuitions with atrophy, then this "scientific
materialism," and its high-priests, become proper targets for criticism
by members of The Theosophical Society; not, be it understood, in any
personal sense, or in a spirit of personal resentment, but rather on
principle, because they are endangering that most holy thing, the spiritual
welfare of mankind.

14

209

210 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

In exactly the same way, and for exactly the same reason, if a
nation like Germany, at once dogmatic, in the narrowest and most
obnoxious sense — the dogmatism of blind and swollen vanity, — and
intensely materialistic, should plan, as Germany did, to attack and stifle
the spiritual life of other nations, and ultimately of mankind, it becomes
the instant and imperative duty of The Theosophical Society, and of
its members, with every grain of spiritual force that is in them, to resist
that attack by force, and, as a most effective means of resistance, to
make clear the spiritual menace that lies in that attack, and the funda-
mental principle of evil that inspires it.

Exactly this was done, as every one of its readers is well aware,
by writers in the THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY, accompanied by clear-cut
corporate action at our Conventions. It was done as a matter of
principle, of imperative moral duty; we should in fact have forfeited
our right to call ourselves The Theosophical Society, had we followed
any other course. We have assigned to us, by most august authorities,
as many of us believe, a vital duty, the duty of safeguarding in certain
ways the immortal interests of mankind, and we have done our best,
and shall, in the future, do our best to measure up to that high respon-
sibility. As to the principle, we are in no doubt at all. Whatever
makes for the spiritual well-being of mankind is imperatively our business,
whether it lead to support of forces of good or to active resistance to
forces of evil.

That the German nation, as a whole, has any sense at all of the
foulness of the evil which it planned and tried to carry out, there is not
a particle of evidence. Should it, as many things suggest, determine
to continue, as a nation, in the same path of evil, merely substituting
treachery and hypocrisy for open violence, until the opportune hour
for violence once more arrives, then it would seem that Germany will
invite and evoke the fate of earlier votaries of evil among the nations,
the fate of ultimate and final extinction, such as befell the Atlanteans
as a race. The welfare of mankind will demand that ; and that high and
holy Destiny which guards the welfare of mankind will bring it about.
But, just as The Theosophical Society, as a whole, exists for the spiritual
welfare of mankind, to guard and foster mankind's immortal destiny, so
on the German members of The Theosophical Society is laid, by the fact
of their membership in The Theosophical Society, the arduous duty of
working for the moral restoration of all Germany, if that be possible;
or at least for their own moral restoration, that they may, so far as in
them lies, discharge the heavy debt which they have incurred to all
mankind, by their share in Germany's plans and Germany's crimes. It
is a terribly difficult task; it is, for just that reason, a tremendous
spiritual opportunity.

It is of high importance, first of all for themselves, and then for
their nation, that some members of The Theosophical Society in Germany
and what, before the war, was Austria, are coming to see these facts

NOTES AND COMMENTS 211

in something of their nakedness, and are taking the first steps toward
moral restoration. Some of the documents that illustrate this awakening
will be here set forth in order, both as forming a very important part
of the Theosophical record, and as illustrating vital moral principles.

The earliest of these documents will show, what is of considerable
Karmic import, that, even during the war, there were members of The
Theosophical Society within the Central Empires who saw, if not all
the truth, at least a vital part of the truth, and who had the courage to
put their insight officially on record. This first document was addressed
to The Theosophical Society in Convention assembled, by the Branch in
Aussig (Bohemia), and is dated March 10, 1916. The essential parts
of the document follow :

"Our heartiest greetings and most sincere good wishes ! More than
in other years we feel impelled to express to our brothers and sisters in
America our especial thanks for the support and help given to us.

"With the conviction that the leaders of the Society to whom, long
ago, we gave our fullest trust, will and can give us at this time help more
than ever, we seek to make ourselves receptive to this help.

"By a loving and friendly study of the QUARTERLY and a living,
devoted faith in the direction of The Theosophical Society, we grow in
insight and understanding, and hope that in virtue of this attitude,
through our common work, light will be given us on those points which
are not yet clear to us.

"One of these points refers to the question whether the Resolutions
at the Convention of 1915, which were expressed by Mr. Hargrove, ought
not to be taken formally as an expression of The Theosophical Society.

"Those of our members (six in number) who were able to accept
the situation, personally share the view of Mr. Hargrove. It is less clear
to them whether this view should be taken as the conclusion of The
Theosophical Society as such.

"Our Branch numbers at present ten members, of whom four are
in the field. The Branch work is carried on by those remaining behind,
in sympathy with those who are fighting, and it has brought us two
new members. . . .

"May our love of the Master grow so strong that our strength may
suffice to solve our problems, which are terribly difficult, in the Master's
spirit!"

The question raised in this letter — whether it was the duty of The
Theosophical Society as such to go on record in the Convention Resolu-
tions,— has been already answered: whatever makes for the spiritual
well-being of mankind is the duty of The Theosophical Society, as a
Society.

The second document is of quite recent date. It was addressed on
July 23, 1919, to the Chairman of the Executive Committee of The

212 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

Theosophical Society, by a member in Berlin. The essential parts of the
letter follow :

"At last the way is free and the possibility of correspondence has
returned. I at once make use of the long desired opportunity to ask for
your friendly help.

"For us who are German members of the T.S., the great war was a
test of mutual trust. I fear that this test was not met.

"The violation of Belgium and its thorough-going condemnation in
the QUARTERLY led to a division of minds here and to a many-sided inner
contest. On both sides, the motive was, to prevent the failure of the T.S.

"By a study of the QUARTERLY articles on the war, I reached the
conviction that the T.S. in each nation must be the articulate conscience
of that nation, that it must not keep silence, especially when there is a
question of a national crime which has violated the principles of brother-
hood and righteousness, as was the case with the crime against Belgium.

"When, in a lecture before the Berlin Branch in November 1918,
I condemned this violation, it was indicated to me by some of the oldest
members that I had violated By-law 35 of the T.S. and had brought
politics into the Society. For we must condemn crimes, corrupt systems
and so forth, only 'in the abstract'; that is, in the view of those who
criticised me. We must condemn only in general, murder, breach of
treaties, tyranny, disloyalty and so forth, but that in The Theosophical
Society we must not refer to actual crimes and must not consider and
condemn these.

"I request you to give me your views on the meaning and practical
application of the phrase 'in the abstract.' I am of the opinion that
the meaning is, that we must also condemn evil acts, so long as they do
not affect us personally, in order to comply with abstract righteousness,
without regard to our personal advantage or disadvantage. I am far
from wishing to violate By-law 35, or to drag the T.S. into politics. But
should it not also be said in the T.S. that the sphere of politics must not
become a playground of the devil? Since we do not live in cloistered
solitude, but must be the leaven which is to permeate the whole of social
life, there is, in my view, no region of life, the consideration of which,
from the standpoint of the Theosophical ideal, should be forbidden in
The Theosophical Society. The differences in view on this point in the
Berlin Branch are very great; and, while a part of the members are
very thankful for the article in the QUARTERLY, other members condemn
it in the sharpest terms, as a sign of the failure of the T.S. The
difficulty appears to me to be this, that we, as the T.S., are standing
before new and wider views of brotherhood, and that we are sunk toc>
deeply in the old ruts to find the new way passable.

"What are we, as members of the T.S., to do in order to help
Germany in its present situation? I shall be very grateful to you for
an answer to this question.

NOTES AND COMMENTS 213

"I believe that the divine powers have withdrawn from our nation,
and that they will not again draw near to it until sincere repentance
for what has happened is felt at least by the Theosophists of Germany,
and until they view their Theosophical work in the light of reparation,
of atonement to the divine powers. Except in relation to Belgium, I
believed, during the first years of the war, that we were waging defensive
warfare, and that, as a nation, we stood on the side of Light; but now
I know that the contrary was and is the case. I believe that we have
failed to recognize that the Cause of the Master was at stake in our
country. Alas, how dark it was, in and around us ! "

A reply to this letter was sent on October 4, 1919. The essential
parts of this letter follow :

"I have received your letter of July 23rd and am sincerely glad to
know that there are a few in Germany who are beginning to get some
glimpse of the truth, and that you are among them.

"You are right in thinking that the Cause of the Masters was at
stake in your country. Do you realize also, I wonder, that if a sufficient
number of German members had understood from the beginning what
the real issue was, they might have saved Germany from the completeness
of her moral degradation? Even if powerless to control or to modify
outer events, their understanding, their ability to- see the truth, would
have had the same effect as the three righteous men would have had on
behalf of Sodom and Gomorrah.

"Yet, while it is too late to do all that might and should have been
done, it is not too late to help Germany in its present situation.

"The answer to your question under this head is : — you can help
by understanding clearly the principles at stake; by seeing clearly that
the issue was between right and wrong, between the White Lodge and
the Black. You can help by doing what you would advise a man to do
if he came to you saying — 'I am beginning to see that my associates
committed outrages and that they stole and were guilty of murder for
gain. I do not yet realize the full extent of their wrong or of my own
responsibility for not having protested at that time. I do, however,
want now to do what is right.'

"I am sure you would desire ardently to help such a man. You
would realize at once, I believe, that the only way to help him would be
to tell him the truth. As soon as he is able to see that, he will repent,
and the more sincerely he repents, the more sincerely he will desire to
atone. The desire to make restitution would be the test of his sincerity.

"Consequently, both my duty toward you, and your duty toward
other German members, are plain ; namely, to tell the truth so as to give
opportunity for repentance and for increasing repentance, leading up to
a deep desire to atone.

"Those, therefore, are the three stages: understanding (realization),
repentance, and then the desire to atone, to make amends, for the wrong
done, and to restore more, rather than less, than that which was stolen.

214 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

"We can influence others, and the nation of which we are a part, by
being and doing what we know that others should be and do. Three
or four of you (and I am hoping there will be more) may serve as a
nucleus for the leaven which should leaven the whole lump.

"You have made a good beginning, in so far as you see now that the
T.S. in each nation ought to be the articulate conscience of that nation,
and in so far as you realize also that Theosophy, instead of remaining
an inward abstraction, must be externalized until it controls every detail
of our lives. What is the purpose of evolution, if not to bring all outer
activities everywhere under the dominion of the Lodge? To speak of
Theosophy as 'inward' — if it mean anything at all — suggests that it
consists of fine ideas which we need not practise. Any such conception
is a mockery, a perversion of spirituality. True spirituality is right
action, springing from right motive. Otherwise, what is called 'spiritu-
ality' is psychic dreaming.

"Of course the T.S. must not, as a Society, take part in politics.
The T.S. in this country, for instance, must not electioneer for the
Republicans or for the Democrats or for any other party. The T.S.
is far above political parties. But does anyone suppose that it should
be indifferent to what is going on in the world, or that its members, at
Branch meetings, should limit the expression of their opinions to colour-
less disapprobation of hypocrisy and of other sins in the abstract?
That is not what H.P.B. did, or Mr. Judge! H.P.B. attacked the errors
and sins of scientists and of religious bigots, and she named the
wrong-doers one after another, from the Archbishop of Canterbury to
most of the Professors of her day.

"Palestine, at the time of the Master Christ, was full of politics —
the Roman party, the Herodian party, the party of the Scribes, of the
Pharisees and so forth. Like the T.S., Christ was far above political
parties. But what did he do? — He referred to Herod as 'that fox,' and
he denounced the Scribes and Pharisees with loathing and contempt.

" 'In the abstract' means that we should be above personal feeling.
Christ did not hate the Pharisees because they hated him, or because
they had attacked and insulted him. He hated them because they were
the enemies of God. He denounced them to their faces, 'in the abstract,'
— that is, collectively; he denounced both their spirit and their practice.
He did not have a quarrel with Rabbi This or Rabbi That, but, as a class,
he knew they were base, and he said so.

"All of this, and much more regarding the war, both as to facts
and principles, you will find set forth in detail, in back numbers of the
THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY, now on their way to you. German members
should read and try to digest every word of what has been said on this
subject since 1914.

"No one, I trust, will be so foolish as to imagine that the past is
a dead issue. The past is not dead. The present is the outcome of the
past, and the future will be the outcome of the past, modified, for good

NOTES AND COMMENTS 215

or ill, by the present. Enormities have been committed by Germany
under the influence of the Black Lodge. To escape from that influence
completely, it will be necessary for German members to detach themselves,
thread by thread, from the delusions of the past. A general and vague
turning away will not be sufficient. So long as a single thread remains,
evil will be transmitted and blindness will continue.

"Those who from the beginning until now have persisted in believing
that Germany is in the right — those who have rejected all warnings and
all the instruction offered them — have proved that they have never
understood the elements of Theosophy, and that their membership has
had no reality. They have put themselves outside the fellowship of
those who have pledged themselves to the service of the Masters.

"You speak of 'new and wider views of brotherhood/ You will
see, I hope, from what I have written, that these 'new and wider views'
are not an innovation. They are the views which those who understood
H.P.B. and Mr. Judge have always held. It is evident, however, that
the teaching of H.P.B. and of Mr. Judge has been misunderstood in
Germany, or in any case has been misrepresented, and that what is needed
now is a better understanding of the old teaching. . . ."

So far, the situation, as it concerns the attitude of members of The
Theosophical Society with regard to Germany. The lessons are suffic-
iently clear. The second group of circumstances, on which it is our
purpose to comment, has arisen in the Adyar Society, and finds expression
in an article by Mr. George S. Arundale, entitled "Why not Reconstruction
in the Theosophical Society?"

The article is, in its way, both interesting and symptomatic. But
we can quote only a paragraph or two, which seem to carry the heart
of the matter. Thus we find the writer saying : "It might be argued that
now that the world has responded to the striking of the note of Brother-
hood, now that the principle of Universal Brotherhood may be regarded
as generally accepted, ought not the Theosophical Society to begin to
emphasize the next step — i.e., to recognize the existence of a superhuman
kingdom, of which are Those who are the Elders of the human family,
who have long ago passed through the stages through which we are
passing to-day, and who are the guides and rulers of the world? We
might then ask whether the Theosophical Society should not begin to
stand forth more openly as a channel between the Elder Brethren and
Their younger comrades in the outer world? Might it not be well that
we should learn to accept more formally Their nominations to the
Presidency of the Theosophical Society than was possible in 1907?
Further, might it not be desirable, in view of the above, that we should
make each President hold office either for life or, at least, for a term of
years longer than the seven which is now the rule? Again, to what
extent is it desirable that the President of the Society should have more
autocratic powers than at present possessed by the holder of that office ?"

It is probable that readers of the THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY will

216 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

regard this curious paragraph first with amazement, then, perhaps, with
some amusement, and finally with real indignation, that the high ideals
of Theosophy should be so travestied. Briefly, this writer suggests
that the existence of Masters should be "erected into a dogma;" that
the President of the Adyar Society should be regarded as nominated and
kept in office by Masters; and, finally, that this President should have
"more autocratic powers."

Can it be necessary to say once more that The Theosophical Society
has, and can have, no dogma whatsoever? Adherence to the principle
of universal brotherhood, the one condition of membership, is in no
sense dogmatic. Or need it be said that the last thing that would be
credible of genuine Masters is, that they should permit themselves to
be "erected into a dogma?" Finally, nothing is more foreign to the true
ideal of The Theosophical Society than its dominance by an autocrat
primed with doctrines and dogmas on every conceivable subject under
heaven, and indeed extending to the seventh heaven and beyond ; having
power, one supposes, to impose these dogmas upon the members; for
it is difficult to see in what other direction the autocratic powers postulated
could be exercised.

It can hardly be necessary to consider these extravagances seriously.
But the gravity of the matter lies, in our view, not so much in their having
been proposed, as in the favour with which they have been received.
Careful study of the subsequent numbers of the misnamed magazine in
which this article appears, has not disclosed whether any official action
has been taken as suggested ; but it has brought to light the startling fact
that these extraordinary proposals have been very favourably received.

For example, we find in the July number of the same magazine
(The Theosophist) a letter, by Mr. D. H. Steward, which speaks with
entire approval of "making belief in the Masters an obligatory condition
of membership."

We spoke of this strange proposal as symptomatic. The same word
may be applied, with even greater aptness, to certain verses which appear
in the October number, together with more correspondence gravely
approving the dogmas, the autocracy and all the rest. These verses
deserve quotation :

"Yours the clear eyes that see the world's old wrongs ;
Yours the undaunted heart, the endless strength ;
Yours the true voice that through the thickest fight
Into our very inmost conscience rings.

For you, how feeble are my finest songs,
However apt, whatever be their length !
For who am I to net the words of Light
To praise one chosen of the King of Kings ?"

NOTES AND COMMENTS 217

". . . To net the words of Light to praise one chosen by the King
of Kings !" . . . It is something of a shock to discover that this is not
addressed to Parabrahm, or the Logos, or even a plenary Avatar, but
"To our Chief : on the Occasion of Her Birthday !" It is a still greater
shock to find the said Chief, as Editor of the magazine, gravely accepting
and printing this tremendous flattery. One finds on the cover the
honoured name of H. P. Blavatsky; one can imagine the scathing
contempt, mingled, perhaps, with Homeric laughter, with which she
would have received such a floral offering.

It is related that Joseph of Arimath&a was imprisoned by the Jews
because he had begged the body of Jesus after the crucifixion. Joseph
afterwards gave the following account of his release from prison:

"On the preparation, about the tenth hour, you locked me up, and I
remained all the Sabbath. And at midnight, as I was standing and
praying, the room where you locked me in was hung up by the four
corners, and I saw a light like lightning into my eyes. And I was afraid,
and fell to the ground. And some one took me by the hand, and removed
me from the place where I had fallen; and moisture of water was poured
from my head even to my feet, and a smell of perfumes came about my
nostrils. And he wiped my face, and kissed me, and said to me, Fear
not, Joseph; open thine eyes, and see who it is that speaks to thee. And
looking up, I saw Jesus. And I trembled, and thought it was a phantom;
and I said the commandments, and he said them with me. Even so you
are not ignorant that a phantom, if it meet anybody, and hear the com-
mandments, takes to flight. And seeing that he said them with me, I
said to him, Rabbi Helios [Elijah}. And he said to me, I am not Helias.
And I said to him, Who art thou, my lord? And he said to me, I am
Jesus, whose body thou didst beg from Pilate; and thou didst clothe me
with clean linen, and didst put a napkin on my face, and didst lay me
in thy new tomb, and didst roll a great stone to the door of the tomb.
And I said to him that was speaking to me, Show me the place where
I laid thee. And he carried me away, and showed me the place where
I laid him; and the linen cloth was lying in it, and the napkin for his
face. And I knew that it was Jesus. And he took me by the hand, and
placed me, though the doors were locked, in the middle of my house,
and led me away to my bed, and said to me, Peace to thee! And he
kissed me, and said to me, For forty days go not forth out of thy house;
for, behold, I go to my brethren into Galilee." — THE GOSPEL OF
NICODEMUS (THE ANTE-NICENE FATHERS, VOL. viu).

FRAGMENTS

EXTRACTS FROM A LETTER

U^V T'OU have entered another year, — what will you make of it?

V Behind lies that old one, so full of strife and confusion and
suffering ! Well, some day you will see what was accomplished
in it. I am satisfied. Building under constant and heavy fire must be
slow and difficult. Do not blame yourself for that — nor me! An inch
only at a time, perhaps, still an inch gained. Why grumble? The bugle
will sound some future day for the cavalry charge you love.

"But stubborn courage through cold and privation tell in the end,
like Washington's at Valley Forge, and mark a depth of splendour no
brilliant achievement can shadow.

"Do not grow faint-hearted. Money is scarce, and rations are
scarce, and the troops are suffering ; — brave fellows ! That is what hurts.
Would it be endurance if it were not so really hard ? Would it be courage
if there were not the sickening fear of the heart ? I know your answer,
as you know mine — Go on !"

CAVE.

In each human spirit is a Christ concealed,
To be helped or hindered, to be hurt or healed;
If from any human soul you lift the veil
You will find a Christ there hidden without fail.

— JALALUDDIN RUMI.

218

"BY THE MASTER"

ISHA UPANISHAD

TRANSLATED FROM THE SANSKRIT WITH AN INTERPRETATION

By the Master all this is to be clothed and pervaded, whatever moves
in this moving world.

THESE words, like all that is of primary value in the great Upani-
shads, are addressed to the disciple. For the consciousness of the
disciple, the Master here is the Warrior, the consciousness and
will of the inner Self. But this consciousness and will is in
reality one with the will and consciousness of the Master of that disciple ;
the will and consciousness of the Logos, as expressed and embodied in
that Master.

It is not that the disciple must follow out all his own thoughts and
volitions, attributing these to his Master; it is rather that he must,
through sacrifice and purification, discern within himself those thoughts
and volitions, those intuitions of perception and action which really come
from his Master, and seek courageously and with devotion to carry these
out, in every task and situation which comes before him. In this way,
through aspiration, sacrifice, and devotion, and through ceaselessly val-
orous action, his own individual nature, the inner and the outer, is to
be clothed and infused by the Master.

But the teaching has a still wider scope. He must perceive the
Master in everyone with whom he comes in contact. The man or woman
or child to whom he is speaking, with whom he is acting, must be for
him the Master; he must speak and act towards that person as to the
Master.

Does this mean that the disciple must take every word and act of
everyone with whom he comes in contact as being the words and acts
of his Master? In one sense, yes; but only when the matter is rightly
and profoundly understood. The principle of discernment has already
been indicated : just as, when dealing with his own nature, he must not
take all thoughts and volitions which arise in it as being the thoughts and
volitions of his Master; but must, on the contrary, with sacrifice and
devotion seek out and discern the Master's thought and will for him;
so, in dealing with another he must, with equal sacrifice and courage,
with the entire disinterestedness of detachment, seek and discern the
Master's thought and will for that person. To put it in another way:
he must seek and discern the Master's ideal for that person and work
courageously to carry that ideal toward realization. Since the Master
has an ideal for each man, woman, or child with whom his disciple
comes in contact, both a general ideal reaching toward ultimate perfection

219

220 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

and divinity, and a particular ideal for that time and situation, therefore
the Master, as that ideal, is in that person, and the disciple must behold
him there, and must act, at once with valour and with humility, on that
vision of his Master. Therefore by the Master is to be clothed and
pervaded, first the inner and outer nature of the disciple himself ; next,
the man, woman, or child with whom he is in contact, whether in speech
or action.

This appears to be the meaning of the religious injunction, that the
disciple must see God in the person with whom he is speaking, towards
whom he is acting, whether that person be a superior, an equal or an
inferior, a saint or a sinner. There are no exceptions whatever.

Therefore we find a Master saying : I was an hungered, and ye gave
me meat : I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink : I was a stranger, and ye
took me in: naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me:
I was in prison, and ye came unto me. Then shall the righteous answer
him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee an hungered, and fed thee? or
thirsty, and gave thee drink? When saw we thee a stranger, and took
thee in? or naked, and clothed thee? Or when saw we thee sick, or
in prison, and came unto thee? And the King shall answer and say
unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto
one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.

This must be carried out, therefore, with the literalness and com-
pleteness with which the Master has here stated it. So vital and far-
reaching is this principle, that the Master makes it the sole condition
of salvation, of spiritual life.

Besides oneself and one's neighbour, there is a third field in which
this principle and method must be applied by the disciple: whatever
moves in this moving world. All this must be clothed and pervaded
by the Master. He must see his Master literally in everything; in the
situation, circumstances and events of his own personal life, without
any exception whatever ; in the situation, circumstances and events of
the whole world. It is hardly necessary to say that this does not mean
that his own Master actually decides and directs all mundane and cos-
mic events, in any arbitrary and personal sense. But his Master's con-
sciousness is the expression of the consciousness of the Lodge, of the
Logos; his Master's will is the will of the Lodge, of the Logos. And
therefore that which is the essence of his Master's will and consciousness
does in fact decide and direct all mundane and cosmic events. Further,
the disciple has his approach to the will and consciousness of the Lodge,
of the Logos, through his own Master. His task is, to endeavour to
perceive and to affect all events with the vision and will of his own
Master; to become, through sacrifice and devotion, one with the con-
sciousness and will of that Master.

In this way, then, by the Master all this is to be clothed and per-
vaded, whatever moves in the moving world: first, the inner nature of
the disciple ; then his neighbour ; then all outer events without exception.

BY THE MASTER 221

Through this renounced, thou shalt enjoy; covet not the wealth of
any!

It is curious that this sentence contains the whole problem of the
twentieth century, with its solution; curious, since the words were writ-
ten in Sanskrit not only twenty centuries ago, but perhaps, more nearly
twenty milleniums. The sentences of the Lodge are everlasting, and
this is one of them.

The whole problem of the twentieth century, — since the vice of
the age is covetousness. Covetousness, the angry desire to be in the
situation and circumstances belonging to another, whether another man
or another nation. But these circumstances, that situation, were assigned
to the man, to the nation, by the will of the Lodge, the embodied Logos ;
assigned to him, not to us. And our situation, our circumstances, were,
by the same will of the Lodge, the Logos, assigned to us, not to him;
assigned, in each case, because the soul imperatively requires, for its
present learning, exactly that situation, those circumstances. The law
is as simple as simplicity itself.

But before we can understand this or any other spiritual law, we
must first obey it with measurable completeness. We must accept our
circumstances, with patience and sacrifice, before we can possibly under-
stand them. In the footsteps of devoted acceptance will come under-
standing, and this understanding will steadily broaden and deepen, until
we see the full purpose of the Master, and why, in wise compassion, he
gave us just that situation, just these circumstances.

We must accept before we can understand; and this means the
cheerful acceptance of the whole heart, not a grudging, resentful resig-
nation. And we must begin by accepting, as the key of the situation,
the centre of all circumstances, the Master himself ; each one, the Master
who set him in the midst of those circumstances, the reality of that
Master, the excellence of his will. We must, if we would make any
genuine progress, begin with the Master. Therefore this Upanishad
begins with the Master.

There are two false beginnings. To begin with self, means to end
in death. To begin with our neighbour, means to end in confusion.
We must, if we would begin wisely, begin with the Master, accepting
his compassionate will, seeking his purposes that we may fulfil them.
To prefer the will of the Master to one's own will in any one thing,
is the beginning of discipleship. He who prefers the Master's will to
his own will, not only in one thing, but in all, is already an accepted
disciple.

Through this renunciation, the disciple will find joy ; by preferring,
at each point, the Master's will to his own will. Joy, for this reason:
the Master's will for him is the will of the Logos, the will of infinite
wisdom, infinite compassion, infinite Love. To conform to the purpose
of that wisdom, that love, is the very essence of joy. Who could live,

222 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

who could breathe, asks another Upanishad, if the heart of Being were
not joy?

Exactly the same law is enunciated again and again, by the western
Master already quoted: He that loveth his life shall lose it: he that
hateth his life shall keep it unto life eternal. To love the personal life,
the life of the lower will and inclinations, self-centred and greedy, is
to stake everything on that which is already condemned to death. To
hate that lower life in us, because of its greed, its baseness, its ruthless
readiness to sacrifice others, its vanity and consequent treachery; and,
hating that, to love with passionate ardour the will of the Master in us
and for us, because of its holiness, its purity, its loveliness, its compassion
for us and others, and, even more, because the Master's will is the very
essence of self-sacrifice, an age-long offering, in virtue of which alone
he is a Master ; to love that life with the heart's whole ardour, is already
to have a place in eternal life.

Toiling, therefore, here at his tasks, let him be willing to live a
hundred ages; thus is it with thee, and not otherwise, nor does -work
smear and befoul the man.

A word may be said here concerning the real nature of this Upani-
shad. It is, if you wish, a philosophical treatise ; further, it is a Mystery
teaching. But it appears to be even more : a ritual or rather fragments
of a ritual of one of the great Initiations.

Certain tasks for the disciple have already been outlined in the pre-
ceding sentences of the Upanishad. And it has been said that before
the disciple can at all understand the inner meaning of any one of these
tasks, the Master's purpose for him in that task, he must have carried
it through with measurable completeness. So there are, for the disciple
of a given stature, in each stage of his journey homeward, a group of
tasks, the entire course of spiritual studies and undertakings for that
stage or class. Each of these must be carried through with entire faith-
fulness, with measurable completeness, before the inner significance of
the course, and its relation to the whole of divine life, can be understood
and seen in the light of illumined spiritual vision.

When the course for that stage and stature is completed, the Lodge
takes it upon itself to bring to the disciple the full revelation of its sig-
nificance, its meaning and purpose in the light of eternity. And this
is done in what is at once a Lodge ceremony and a tremendous spiritual
experience, wherein the disciple, while taking a part in certain forms
and symbolic acts and words, at the same time is rapt into the full con-
sciousness of his own Master, of that Master's Master, and of the whole
splendid chain of Immortals, up to, and including, the full divine con-
sciousness of Nirvana. Such a ritual, or a part of such a ritual, this
Upanishad would appear to be. It was put in form, no doubt, millen-
niums ago, before the red Rajput race, who were the possessors of the
Mysteries in older India, left their earlier home in Egypt ; perhaps before

BY THE MASTER 223

the race which formed the illumined nucleus of Egypt came thither from
still unfallen Atlantis. For, as the realities of the Lodge are from ever-
lasting to everlasting, so are its Mysteries and symbols, its supremely
spiritual symbolic ceremonies.

If one keeps in mind what thus appears to be the real character of
this Upanishad, one will be better able to understand the full meaning
of the verse just translated. From the very inception, the life of the
disciple is sacrifice; each step of the long journey is sacrifice; its con-
summation, the end of the way, is supreme sacrifice. The whole history
of that life is told, with the simplicity which comes only from complete
mastery, by a Master, in Light on the Path; and it is made clear that
the first part of the way involves the sacrifice of renunciation, the put-
ting off of the old man, as Paul the Initiate phrases it. The next stage
of the way involves the sacrifice of valour, heroic toil, the putting on
of the new man ; the painful and difficult evocation of the dormant divine
powers and faculties, and their application to their tasks ; something that
can be done only by dauntless, indefatigable will, with boundless courage
and faith in one's Master; something that cannot even be attempted,
until the first part of the way, the putting off of the old man, has been
measurably carried through.

It is easy to see why this is. If the divine forces were evoked,
aroused, and brought into activity, while the impulses and substance of
the old man remained, this would mean the inflaming and intoxication
of that lingering lower nature by these potent forces. The outcome
would be the creation of a powerful devil ; not salvation, but swift dam-
nation. Therefore such a great part of all published scriptures is con-
cerned with the first part of the way, the stage of painful self-conquest,
of purification, during which the whole personality must be dissolved.
Only after this has been done, can the disciple gain any glimpse of the
next stage of the way. Only after it has been done can the disciple
with complete safety learn that there is a further stage of the way.

It should be clearly understood that, while this second stage is one
of upbuilding, of the evoking and using of divine forces, it is none the
less a way of sacrifice. For an example, to call forth courage from
timidity is a peculiarly painful sacrifice, one that is bitterly trying at
the beginning. In like manner, to bring heroic zeal in the place of
sloth is painful, and always a sacrifice, whether bodily or intellectual
sloth be the point of attack. In general, it may be said that the temper
needed for this, the second stage of the way, is that of the soldier
"going over the top". A part of his nature, a deep-seated tendency or
weakness, will be slain in the charge.

But there is a larger sense in which the more advanced stages of
the way are marked by ceaseless sacrifice. The advanced disciple and,
far more, the Master, must make war on weakness and sin in the world,
in others. This cannot be done from without. It must be done from
within. The Master must be fully conscious of the sin, the temptations,

224 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

of those whom he seeks to help; he must share the consciousness, the
feeling, that urges and entices them toward that sin; and thus feeling
it, he must combat it by the contrary power in his own nature. It would
seem to be this law, this process, that the Buddha had in mind, when
he said : "Let the sins of Kali Yuga rest on me, but let man be saved !"

In this sense, therefore, must the disciple be willing to toil through
"a hundred ages", taking up, as his Master took up so long ago, that
terrible toil which is, nevertheless, a great and ever-increasing delight.

And as the Master, while fully conscious of the feeling of allure-
ment which the sin he is combating has for the sinner, is, by virtue of
his inherent purity, free from the least enticement, so must the disciple
understand that the great and terrible toil for others cannot lead to
impurity, if his own heart be pure.

There is a final and supreme point at which the sacrifice of freely
accepted toil, of immersion, almost, in the sins and temptations of the
world, must be assumed : when, at the last initiation, the Master puts
aside the well-earned peace and silence of Nirvana, and undertakes
instead to lift and bear a part of the "heavy Karma of the world". Of
every Master at this point it will be true that "he is tempted at all points,
yet without sin". The incarnation of an Avatar is the type and symbol,
as well as the actuality of this sacrifice, but it is equally real for all other
Masters, who remain unseen, in what, for the rest of mankind, is the
impenetrable darkness of the occult world.

The Upanishad text continues:

Sunless, verily, are those worlds, by -blind darkness enwrapped;
they enter into those worlds on going forth — the men who are slayers
of their own souls.

As through ceaseless sacrifice the disciple is bringing his soul to
life, enkindling within himself the long dormant divine elements, so there
are those who, by continued refusal of sacrifice, in fact sacrifice the
higher to the lower self, and thereby literally slay their souls. It would
appear that every initiation must contain, in its ritual, some such warn-
ing of the penalty of failure and betrayal; for the real failure comes
only through deliberate sin.

So the disciple, in this initiation which in fact sums up the long
path of toil and sacrifice which he has travelled, and at the same time
lights up with divine radiance the splendid way before him, is made to
see what would have been the penalty of failure, if through baseness
he had made the great betrayal. He would have fallen into those worlds,
by blind darkness enwrapped, which await those who sin against the
light, who are guilty of the sin against the Holy Ghost, the divine ele-
ment within themselves. Speaking of this divine element, the Upanishad
continues :

Without moving, that One is swifter than mind. Nor did the
bright Powers overtake It; It went swiftly before them. That outstrips

BY THE MASTER 225

the others, though they run, while It stands still. In That Matarishvan
disposes the life-streams.

At this stage of the initiation, the disciple is being initiated into
the consciousness of the divine element within himself, the principle
which is called Buddhi, and which may be thought of as the active potency
and manifestation of Atma.

It has already become clear that the same law holds good for the
initiation of the disciple and the initiation of the Master, once allowance
is made for difference of degree. There is one point at which the analogy
is completely true, though it may not be always realized: just as there
are difficulties and perplexing problems for the disciple, which can only
be solved by courage and endurance and humility, and even then solved
practically, rather than comprehended, so, on their own evidence, there
are difficulties and even insolvable problems for the Masters themselves,
which they approach by the same path of courage and humility, finding
a working method, rather than a full comprehension. And no matter
what lofty peak of spiritual splendour may be reached, the depths of
the sky will still be as far above it ; there will ever be deeper and greater
mysteries.

This is in the nature of things. Sir Oliver Lodge has been quoted
as saying that Science asks questions which will never be answered.
And it must be so, even when it is a question of the greatest Masters.
For it is in the nature of things impossible that Being should go behind
Being, to discover why Being is. It is in the nature of things impossible
that Consciousness should observe the causes which bring Consciousness
into being, or detect the source from which Consciousness springs. That
is insolvable and will remain insolvable for ever.

That divine and mysterious principle which lies behind manifested
consciousness, and from which consciousness springs, is, in its unmani-
fested form, ever unknowable. It is in essence one with Parabrahm,
the eternally Unknowable. Therefore it is said that this mysterious
One is swifter than mind, swifter than thought. However swiftly thought
may move, the mysteriousness of the One is there before it ; the mystery
still remains a mystery. It perpetually outstrips the mind's bright powers.
However far the plummet may descend, there are still the unfathomable
depths beyond.

But while unknowable in its unmanifested form, the divine element
is knowable in its manifested form; Atma is knowable when it is
revealed as Buddhi. And in a certain sense it is true that the whole
process of initiation is simply the progressive revelation of Buddhi in
the consciousness of the disciple. This may help us to realize what a
tremendous and vital thing the principle we call Buddhi is.

We know Buddhi, so far, through its two reflections: Prana and
Kama. If we consider Prana alone, how immense is its scope, as the
sustaining power of all vegetable and animal life throughout the world,

15

226 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

the "vital fire," in its simplest form; yet, though in its simplest form,
ceaselessly working miracles.

But what we have now to realize, what the disciple has to realize
at the point we are considering is, that all the miracles of the mani-
fested world, wrought out by Prana, the Life-force, are no more than
reflections of the real miracles of Buddhi, into which he is now to be
initiated by progressive degrees.

It would be well to understand at the outset, that, just as with the
seven principles, the lower six are synthesized by the seventh, Atma;
so with each principle: it has six aspects, powers, sub-principles, what-
ever we may agree to call them, which are synthesized by the seventh;
these sub-principles exactly corresponding, under the universal law of
Correspondence, to the primary principles.

Thus the principle with which we are now concerned, the "divine
fire", Buddhi, should be regarded as containing, or consisting of, seven
sub-principles, six of which are synthesized by the seventh; this group
of seven sub-principles accurately corresponding to the seven primary
principles.

The sub-principles of Buddhi have been described as the seven
Shaktis, or spiritual powers. For our present purpose, we need only
consider the four higher Shaktis : Ichchha shakti, which is the sub-
principle of Buddhi corresponding to Kama; Kriya shakti, the sub-
principle of Buddhi corresponding to Manas; Kundalini shakti, the
sub-principle of Buddhi corresponding to Buddhi itself ; and Mantrika
shakti, the sub-principle of Buddhi corresponding to Atma, and synthe-
sizing the six.

In a certain sense, the task before the disciple is the evocation of
the "divine fire", Kundalini, and the infusion of the principle of Will
in him by that divine fire ; the golden light mingling with the red flame,
to produce the colour of the mystic rose. The fiery aspiration of the
disciple evokes the higher celestial fire, and the two blend in one, the
holy fire which shall thereafter illumine and enkindle that disciple's heart
and life and every act.

This awakened divine fire is intuition, creative genius, the essence
of aspiration; it infuses itself into Kriya shakti (the sub-principle of
Buddhi which corresponds to Manas), the power of imagination and
thought. Imagination then becomes the power to give form to divine
intuition and inspiration, whether that form be in words or any other
vehicle of representation; and thought, inspired by the divine light,
becomes prophetic, formulating the plans and purposes of the Eternal.

This evocation of Buddhi, this arousing of the divine fire by sacrifice
and aspiration, is the mystical meaning within the story of Prometheus,
who brought down divine fire to men; and Prometheus has his proto-
type in Matarishvan, the Vedic Prometheus, who brought down the
divine fire for the Bhrigus, as told in the sixtieth hymn of the first circle
of the Rig Veda. C. J.

(To be continued.)

ON SERVICE

DEAR
You ask me what my personal observations were in regard to
the inner reactions of men in the Army, their spiritual experiences
at the front, the forces impelling them, what they thought and
felt. And, knowing that you have read many letters of French priests who
were fighting in the ranks, and many other expressions either published,
or from private sources, of true realization of the forces that were, and
are, actually at war : of utter and joyous self-sacrifice ; of inner spiritual
experience and conscious nearness to Those in the real world who, too,
were fighting and directing — I am horribly afraid that you are going to
be disappointed. For of all those with whom I was, or with whom I
talked, only one ever mentioned the name of God in my hearing. That
was after an air-raid one night at the front, when a German plane, after
circling for some minutes round and round directly above the darkened
shack in which we were sitting and only about 200 metres up, finally
departed without doing us any damage. My immediate superior said to
me in the dark : "There is only one reason why that Boche didn't wipe
us out as we sat, and that is that God had hold of the situation, and didn't
want him to."

An extraordinary record, or, rather, lack of a record. And yet it
does not mean to me that our young men did not see visions ; that they
were not having their inner experiences. Far from it. It meant merely
that, save in exceptional cases, they did not want to talk about them,
or that they did not know how to put those things into words if they did
wish to do so — and that I personally did not encounter any exceptional
cases. Frankly, at first I was disappointed, for I, too, had read many
such "personal documents" as those which I think you have in mind,
and I wanted to meet and work with and talk to men who had so felt
and lived and experienced, and who could so express their experiences.
But, whatever the reticence and for whatever the reasons, it was speedily
obvious that the feeling and the experience were there, that men were
being moved by forces bigger than those apparent on the surface of
things and that in many cases all that was best in them recognized this
fact. When a General at a Brigade Headquarters wraps an exhausted
runner in his own overcoat, tells him gruffly to sleep a bit, and rises with
a determinedly expressionless face but with shining eyes, it is impossible
to doubt that the spirit of real self-sacrifice runs through that Brigade —
impossible to doubt, too, that the General in question would rather do
anything in the world than talk about it in those terms.

But to digress, to begin at the end of things as it were, there is one
reaction which is most unfortunate and unsettling. One of the most
surprising things — I was almost about to say discouraging, and yet

227

228 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

it is in a way natural — was to return home to find that six people out
of seven with whom one talked were totally lacking in comprehension of
the scale upon which our military operations were conducted in France ;
ignorant of the very whereabouts of those places where the men of our
Expeditionary Forces fought and died; failing utterly to realize the
awfulness of modern war or what our effort meant in terms of sacrifice,
suffering, hardship, sleepless hours of action and work. Some of them
could talk of these things for a while with more or less fluency if not with
accuracy, for they had read literature of the war to any extent. But they
did not have the feel of the thing, they did not know; they had been too
far away, too safe. And so it was easy for them, within a few weeks of
the signing of the Armistice, to relapse into their old pre-war interests
and ways of living ; correspondingly easy for them, too, as time went on,
to be able to talk less and less fluently, to care less to talk at all. And so
it has been proportionately harder for each returning combat unit — more
than proportionately harder, for those divisions which bore the burden
and heat of the day and which were first and longest in the line returned
home last, — to realize that those at home were ever alive, to the degree
that they were, with real feeling for our effort in France, with true
pride and gratitude. It was difficult for them, when they came home,
to find everyone insisting on their rights in some form or other, to under-
stand that the country had ever subordinated self to the spirit of
obedience and co-ordinated effort for a common cause. Their reaction
is obvious, coming as it did months after the let-down from their high
plane of effort in the shadow of death, and after unavoidable weeks of
boredom in wet billets in France and Germany.

But this is beside the point, in a way : it is not what you have asked
about. As our men gave, it seemed to me, so they received, and the
more fully they gave, the more they were helped to receive. At first, in
the cantonments on this side of the water, they learned to disregard the
demands and complaints of the body, to force it to undreamed-of limits
of fatigue and endurance, and they found that it would respond and that it
would thrive under this Rule. They learned in the Army how to obey, and
they learned, too, that it was far easier to obey than it was to try to work
things out for themselves, and that life was a far simpler thing from this
viewpoint than it had ever been before. They learned to obey, not only
when they liked and loved their Commanding Officer, but even when
they disliked and hated him, for one of the first things which the elements
of our divisions acquired, and very rapidly, was an excellent esprit de
corps. If the Commanding Officer was weak and inefficient, so much
the more reason for the organization to be strong : there was a big job on
hand. They gave themselves, in other words, to something infinitely
bigger than themselves, at first unconsciously and perhaps unwillingly.
But whether they were in the Army because they felt that they "ought
to go," or that it was their country's call, or that they were having a part
in making the world safe from a beastly thing, or whether, best of all,

ON SERVICE 229

they realized that it was a straight fight of good against evil, the Master's
fight and His call — for whatever of these reasons they gave themselves,
the motive improved and strengthened as they went along.

For little by little they realized, as they saw officers and men continu-
ally transferred from one organization to another for purposes of more
perfect general co-ordination and higher efficiency, that there was some-
thing greater than Regimental, or even Divisional esprit de corps. They
saw that the General Staff considered the truest interests of the Service
as a whole in these transfers, that it was The Army that it had in mind,
not its subdivisions or individuals therein. They saw that everyone was
a part of a great machine, and that that machine was as strong only as
its weakest part. They realized that it really did not matter in the least
whether one did a thing oneself and got the credit for it and the ensuing
promotion ; that the point was that the thing must be done and done well,
in order that the Army should do well ; and that great things could not be
accomplished unless the smaller things which were to lead up to them
were done faithfully.

And then, after they had learned these things and some others, the
time came for them to go overseas. Most men, I fancy, — certainly all
those who had to any degree become self-conscious in the real sense of
the word, — said goodbye for good, in their hearts at least, to those whom
they most loved, knowing what the odds are in modern war. They gave
up, willingly by now and consciously, something more. And then, when
they arrived in France, they began to receive still further, in a different
way, and in another atmosphere of sacrifice and want and grief and
stress — and of smiles and glad welcome.

Nothing will ever make our men forget that welcome, or how the
French fought, or that scarred land and those ruined homes, or the
spirit of the women, or the pathos of the children. The published reports
of the leave-takings when the First and Second Divisions, which had
been over longest, embarked for home, made one realize the truth of
this, and did much to counteract earlier rumours of dissatisfaction and
grumbling in regard to overcharging by the French, for which our men
were largely responsible themselves, and in regard to unsanitary condi-
tions in billets, which in the circumstances could not under any conditions
have been helped. These reverberations were, in the nature of things,
the natural results of plain home-sickness and of general fed-up-ness
and boredom as much as anything else; and those same men who are
grumbling now will be the first later on, when things fall into the proper
perspective, to speak in quick defence of any criticism when France is
mentioned in their hearing, and to say, "Believe me, boy, I lived with
those people, and I fought with them, and I know."

Much has been written about troops in the line, but the atmosphere,
the feel, of a great headquarters, that of a Corps or of an Army, has not
often been described. As one went up through the forward areas towards
the line one became conscious of an increasing "rarity" in the atmosphere,

230 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

of a greater tension, of a lifting-up of the whole thing to a plane on
which one had not functioned before, but on which it was relatively easy
and natural to do so. There was the feeling of things supernatural in
the air, that one was entering upon hallowed ground, and it was easy,
as the motor-car slipped by woods and forests, to imagine that the
glimpses of light against the sky between broken trees were the flashings
of wings. These feelings were accentuated at a great headquarters,
especially just before an attack; for then the work is being done, and
during the barrage and at the jumping-off hour there is a lull until
reports come in and further dispositions have to be made. Outwardly
everything is very quiet, moves very quickly and noiselessly with no
hurry but great speed, and there is no appreciable interruption even
during shelling or an air-raid. But always there was the consciousness
that the whole thing was being directed and managed from much higher
up than from French Great Headquarters. It was impossible to lose
that sense of Higher Direction ; of great spiritual forces opposed ; of joy
in heaven over the incipient giving way of the hosts of evil ; that under-
neath and around and above all the pressure and strain and tension and
breathless watchfulness was something which sustained, drove, guided,
worked in and through those who were there, whether they knew it or
not, and because they were there and in a holy place. Something, too,
which watched over the complexities of the movements of great bodies
of troops (our First Field Army was composed at one time of over one
million men), from the time the Field Order was written at the table of
the Commanding General ; still guiding while it was in the hands of
couriers speeding over shell-swept roads and beyond all further human
control, on their way to distant points over a vast area; guiding more
than ever as it finally went forward to batteries and companies. Some-
thing was guiding, presiding over the inconceivable confusion, making
sure that it got there safely and in time, and that it was acted upon aright
by each successive individual. Prayers were being said — and being
answered — not only at Headquarters but by the unseen Companions who
were thick in the air of those front areas, those who had fought before
and were fighting then, with all the forces of the spiritual world to
back them.

And they were at Headquarters, too, those Companions, watching,
sustaining, directing. It was their Operation, you see, in reality. Men
could not have worked as they did, two or three hours' sleep sometimes
in four or five days, and worked effectively, without their presence.
The physical body would have broken down without their help, especially
when, after such strain, an order would suddenly come to go forward
for a personal reconnaissance at some doubtful point. More hours
without sleep and without food, with great responsibility. (The modern
staff is a very different thing from Civil War days.) But the Companions
were there, and blessed was he who knew it, for so much the more help
could they give.

ON SERVICE 231

\

But you have asked about certain specific things, and this letter has
rambled on, resolving itself into a few general personal impressions, and
has not really answered your questions. Forgive it, please. For, after
all, they can be briefly summed up. As our men gave, they received.
And according to the degree of their conscious and selfless giving, other
things, too, were added. For to those who came back life will never be
the same. There will be a new power and drive and self-confidence in
all that they do, a new hardness and a new gentleness, a new understanding
of humanity, a new feeling for those whom they love, a deeper consecra-
tion to the things for which they offered themselves. And those who
did not come back, who gave to the uttermost, whose bodies are lying in
consecrated ground, who went up through the dark narrow passage
to the larger room where their Captain was waiting for them with a
smile — surely they have received beyond all that they could have asked
or thought.

Faithfully yours,

STUART DUDLEY.

There are not many happinesses so complete as those that are
snatched under the shadow of the sword. — KIPLING.

Would you wish to know if you are really devout? Then take heed
of what you lose, what you fear, wherefore you rejoice, or why you
sorrow. — ST. BERNARD.

BOLSHEVIK VERSE

"The meanest having power upon the highest,
And the high purpose broken by the worm" —

IDYLLS OF THE KING.

4LL beautiful things are imitated, whether they are nature's or

/\ man's — babe's skin or point de Venise. Sometimes the imitation

J^ V is clever, sometimes crude, and sometimes it is malicious. The

clever imitator knows the goal of his effort, and uses his

intelligence to arrive close to his mark. The crude imitator is

usually too dull to know that a fair pattern is being copied — his desire

has come to be for high colour, so rouge is laid on thick.

Clever imitations are the more evil. Their perpetrators are clear
sighted enough to perceive beauty and its value; and intelligent enough
to know in a measure how to produce it. Recognition of what is
genuine implies power latent to achieve it; but the imitator refuses to
develop his constructive ability. He takes instead, a short cut to a
makeshift. He endeavours to arrive with the minimum of outlay. The
true artist, on the other hand, starves or freezes and gives his last ounce
of energy to bring into expression some further fragment of imperishable
Beauty.

During the two decades of the present century there has been forged
a large body of counterfeit poetry. As the false coins came from the
press, they were thrown aside by those who collect and appraise mintage,
watching keenly for new treasures to add to their old. The counterfeit
was so crude that no one, it seemed, could be deceived. The pieces were
not designed for circulation. They were freaks in verse, done in mockery
of a certain public that forever demands something new. The authors,
one felt, were practical jokers, hoaxing pretentious and gullible dilettanti.
Mr. Edgar Lee Masters and Miss Amy Lowell are the best known of
these .authors.

People in general are not observant or discriminating. They do
not examine their coins. If some one passes a piece to them, that is
its warrant. They accept and pass it on. All standards are easily
vitiated if the process be made gradual. The standard of taste has thus
been vitiated. These verse hoaxes, which a collector would not even
assay, have been passed from one to another. Now some have ventured
to show them openly as specie of the realm. They may or may not
become current. For discrimination between the genuine and the untrue,
on all planes, in art, in science, in politics, in manners, in society, in
religion (discrimination which is the goal of education), has not been
developed in a public that is schooled but not educated, — education, in
the process of being spread over a wide surface, having become so thin
that it is salt without savour.

232

BOLSHEVIK VERSE . 233

Consider a specimen of this verse hoax, seven sentences with the
title "Southern Pacific," and printed thus :

Huntington sleeps in a house six feet long.

Huntington dreams of railroads he built and owned.

Huntington dreams of ten thousand men saying: Yes, sir.

Blithery sleeps in a house six feet long.

Blithery dreams of rails and ties he laid.

Blithery dreams of saying to Huntington : Yes, sir.

Huntington,

Blithery, sleep in houses six feet long.1

What esthetic, intellectual, emotional, or volitional centre does it
reach in a normal human being? The motif of these seven sentences is
malice, that is set scheming in the author by his envy and ignoble
ambition. We are asked to admire these sentences, and others like
them, as representing the present glorious trend of American literature
and American life. But America stands for an ideal, while this hoax
is not only thoroughly materialist, but (whatever the author's race)
thoroughly Jewish. There has been a blurring of racial characteristics
in the internationalizing effort carried on by social settlements and
kindred organizations during the past thirty years ; in the resulting Irish
stew the constituent elements are often unrecognizable. Personal
mortality, the going down to the grave, the dismalness of Sheol — the
consequent necessity of crowding into one's material span whatever is to
be possessed, disappointment at what cannot be grasped, — that was the
prevalent and dominant Jewish metaphysic. It was superseded by one
Fact of Immortality which every individual can prove again for himself
by experimentation. But an overthrown concept of metaphysic may
survive, and, in this case, does, to influence the course of human conduct.
Neither Huntington nor Blithery sleeps in that house. The physical
garment of each is buried in a grave. If Huntington dream at all of
men it is most likely of their stupidity and stubbornness in hindering
his intelligent plans. If Blithery spend one moment of time away from
work in thought about his work — it is incredible ! Selfish envy prompts
this verse imitation — the author's desire to obtain for himself, for his
personal comfort and ease, things which were given to Huntington, by
the way, as tools, — because he was using his abilities in the cause of
civilization. The author disguises his personal interest under care for
Blithery. The disguise deceives no one but himself and his kind.

These counterfeiters of verse think to make their way because they
call Walt Whitman father. Whitman's place as a classic is established.
Passage of years has brought sympathetic critics who have separated his
gold from its slag. But they have not made entirely clear the dual
nature of his work. Whitman is a poet ; but he would seem to be so in

1 By Carl Sandburg.

234 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

spite of himself, the poet in him occupying so small a part of his whole
nature. Consider the period, the man's vociferous egotism, his intoxica-
tion with the quantitative scale of values, and his revolutionary program.*
Frankly, it was all that is blatant and repulsive in American life : — an
extent of territory and natural resources vaster than any other nation's —
therefore a finer civilization than all that preceded. The outworn nations
have surpassed us however in their art, their poetry. But none of those
old foreign poems, Whitman writes in a final summing up of his work,3
is applicable to American conditions. Poetry of cosmic significance, he
thinks, was not possible until the United States arrived upon the scene
of action.4 Whitman felt himself called to supply the deficiency, to be
the great poet America owed to the world. His program5 was a complete
break with the past — to throw overboard the traditions of art handed
down from the mediaeval, feudal period, and from Greece. Their art
was based upon social and political conditions that America had outgrown.
They had made choices. They had chosen certain types of men, heroes
and kings; they had chosen certain kinds of acts, romantic and pictur-
esque, for their subjects. In America, democracy had superseded this
fastidious method of choice, by making the "average" individual the
centre of life. And all the acts of this "average" individual, indis-
criminately, were for the poet to sing; there were no longer proper and
improper acts, decent and indecent, private and public. Whatever
concerned the average individual, brain or belly, that was for the poet
to celebrate.

There is the Bolshevist program with its "nationalization" plans!
There was the poison about to be printed as the creed of a young
nation, the real duty of which was to adhere to the wisdom of the past,
to build upon it, and to cradle a new race.

Whitman's break with tradition was complete, — governmental, social,
metrical. He would make a new form for himself suitable for his new
subject, the "average" man. That form is what is called "free verse."
It is known from his central poem, the "Song of Myself." It is a form
of vociferation and of cataloguing — of listing, first, all the countries of
earth, and declaring that all are equal ; then, all the cities, and declaring
them all equal ; then, all the rivers, all the races, all occupations of men ;
and everything, everywhere, is equal. Nothing is guilty of the crime
of being superior to anything else.

The blab of the pave, tires of carts, sluff of boot-soles, talk
of the promenaders,

'The Prefaces to his different volumes are found, pp. 256-280, in Complete Prose Workt
by Walt Whitman, D. Appleton & Company, New York, 1908.

3 "A Backward Glance o'er Travel'd Roads", p. 439 in Leaves of Grass, ed. Small Maynard
& Company, Boston, 1907.

Whitman directed that this comment of his upon his work should be published with the
poems.

«Ibid, p. 437.

B See the Prefaces.

BOLSHEVIK VERSE 235

The heavy omnibus, the driver with his interrogating thumb, the

clank of the shod horses on the granite floor,
The snow-sleighs, clinking, shouted jokes, pelts of snow-balls,
The hurrahs for popular favorites, the fury of rous'd mobs,
The flap of the curtain'd litter, a sick man inside borne to the

hospital,

The meeting of enemies, the sudden oath, the blows and fall,
The excited crowd, the policeman with his star quickly working

his passage to the centre of the crowd,

The impassive stones that receive and return so many echoes,
What groans of over-fed or half-starv'd who fall sunstruck

or in fits,
What exclamations of women taken suddenly who hurry home

and give birth to babes,
What living and buried speech is always vibrating here, what

howls restrain'd by decorum,
Arrests of criminals, slights, adulterous offers made, acceptances,

rejections with convex lips.8

For another typical passage, see the poem, "Salut au Monde" (A Greet-
ing to the World), the lines beginning,

You whoever you are !
You daughter or son of England!

You of the mighty Slavic tribes and empires ! you Russ in
Russia! etc.

This is not poetry; it is soap-box oratory. But it is Whitman. It
is what Traubel and others have in mind when they hail Whitman as
poet of democracy. There is more than this, however. There are
passages of aspiration, of wisdom, of reverence for religion and all noble
things, rhythmical and lyrical passages that are utterly different from his
lists of common things and indecencies. How can the poet coexist with
the reveller who is so interested in "the blab of the pave ?"

The twofold reflective quality of the psychic plane makes clear the
extreme variation in Whitman's writing. "Poets dream," is, if not a
proverb, at least a platitude. Arthur O'Shaughnessy, speaking for his
comrade poets, writes :

We are the music makers,

And we are the dreamers of dreams.

Hard-minded people who would wave aside the visions of poets as too
unsubstantial for waking life, are deeply mistaken in their narrow
ignorance. Those dreams are the images of real things, the eternal
realities of the spirit, and the illusory realities of physical matter. Both
worlds, the high plane of spirit and the low plane of physical existence,

• From "Song of Myself."

236 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

are reflected in the psychical plane which lies as a mirror between them.
The poet lives in that world of images; its fields are open before him,
and, as he wills, he gives attention to one or the other reality. Whitman,
from preference, dwelt in the meadows of the lower psychic. From
time to time, he made excursions into the higher psychic field.

This accounts for the passages of beautiful but (usually) unsustained
rhythm that occur in his writing — passages of sufficient frequency and
of sufficient beauty to give him an indisputable place among the greater
poets. It means that he caught and transmitted the rhythm of the
higher psychic plane into which he was looking, the plane that reflects
eternal truth and eternal beauty. Sometimes his contact with that
plane would be long enough to indicate the architecture of a lyric such
as "Passage to India," and "Song of the Open Road." But, as he works
out the poem, his inspiration flags, leaving rough and blank patches. On
another occasion, while coasting the border of the two fields, a lovely
rhythmical passage (unsustained, however) sings itself out. Such is
the salutation to death.7 There are also a few short poems, complete in
themselves without admixture of the lower plane. "As I ponder'd in
silence" and "Facing west from California's shores" are examples of
this class.8

Through excursions among the reflections of the higher psychic
plane, a certain amount of wisdom filtered into his egotism and animality.
This was not without result, though not the degree of result to be wished
from such leaven. Consider the program Whitman outlined for himself
in the Preface to his first volume in 1855. Colloquially, it is in the
"scream-eagle" style. It is the style of vague, indefinite anticipations,
which the League of Nations, and some other official documents of the
present day, illustrate. It looks with sanguine eyes to great results
ahead. It tells not a single definite step for reaching its goal. Twenty-
five years later,9 while Whitman does not abate his anticipations and
indefiniteness a jot, he is able to see difficulties in the way of his democratic
schemes that make the accomplishment he desires something of a problem.
But he does not attempt to solve the problem. He admits that great
individuals are needed to accomplish national results, and he asks: how
can great individuals be raised in a perfect democracy which levels all
superiorities down to the average man? He has no answer. He sees
his country immersed in crude materialism, and pervaded generally by
lewdness. He cannot name the first corrective effort that should be
made. The unparalleled nobleness which he foretells, seeming to proceed
from the actual conditions before him, tends to justify those detestable

T Come lovely and soothing death,

Undulate round the world, serenely arriving, arriving,
In the day, in the night, to all, to each.
Sooner or later delicate death, etc. (From "When lilacs last in the dooryard bloom'd.")

• See Table of Contents in Leaves of Grass.

• See "Democratic Vistas," pp. 197-250 in Complete Prose Works.

BOLSHEVIK VERSE 237

conditions. It leads those who approve his schemes to feel that they have
already achieved.

Does the duality in Whitman's writing set him apart from other
poets? Only in the degree to which he refused to yield himself to the
moulding influence of the spiritual world. Poets are mediums ; they are
not spook-mediums of the seance room, sensitive to astral shells. But
they are sensitive in a similar way to higher influences ; and facts of the
real world are brought within human ken through the poets' agency.
The nobler and more aspiring a poet's nature is, the more he submits
himself to the control of the spiritual world ; his life becomes regulated.
There is an advance in his writing from destructiveness and vague gener-
ality to a constructive, positive and conservative attitude. Shelley's life
and work show such an advance. A poet rarely knows anything of the
process taking place in his writing. The truth and beauty which, as a
medium, he records, he may come to regard as his truth and beauty. It
is rare that a poet medium is found pure enough to transmit facts
unperverted. Egotism, impurity of some kind, distorts the truth. In the
case of Wordsworth and others, the divine impulse cut as it were a
channel in his nature. Wordsworth became aware of the channel, and
he would sail through it himself, unimpelled by the divine current. He
(and others also), was so blind to the rationale of inspiration that he
could not distinguish between the poems written alone, and those written
when, as medium, he was in communication with a higher and more
beautiful realm. How does Whitman differ from such other poets?
Usually the poet receives, together with his impression of beauty, a sense
of the sacredness of a trust. He is called to reveal a higher beauty to
men. He is to purify himself for that great mission. A feeling of the
priest rises in him. Shame for sin overtakes him. It is indifference,
heartlessness, even pride and satisfaction in his sin that is deplorable
in Whitman. Lunacy is a veil of charity for Rousseau. There seems
none for Whitman with his brood of six illegitimate children, left with
their mothers to shift for themselves.

"Free verse" is the name used by Whitman's literary descendants
to describe their imitation verse form. "Free verse" is a near neighbour
to "free love" and other detestable things, that use the word "free,"
euphemistically, to cover the looseness they really advocate. How
significant is Miss Lowell's comment upon the Belgian poet, Verhaeren, —
a man in whom the combat of dual natures was also marked. He has
written many volumes, lurid, smoky, vague.10 A few poems and the
volume of love songs, Les H cures Claires (Happy Hours) will take their
place with the true gold that civilization has mined. These love poems
(addressed to his wife) are as simple and beautiful as the most beautiful

10 Miss Lowell's general summing up of Verhaeren fairly represents the taste of all the
counterfeiters. They mistake confusion for strength, wrack and ruin for creative power. She
comments upon Verhaeren thus: "He is nebulous and redundant. His colours are bright and
vague like flash-lights thrown on a fog. But his force is incontestable, and he hurls along upon
it in a whirlwind of extraordinary poetry." Six French Poets, p. 44.

238 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

love poetry in literature. Tears of profound emotion, gratitude, resolu-
tion— that is their tone. Read, for example the fifth poem :

Chaque heure, ou je songe a ta bonte

Si simplement profonde,

Je me confonds en prieres vers toi.

Je suis venu si tard

Vers la douceur de ton regard,

Et de si loin vers tes deux mains tendues,

Tranquillement, par a travers les etendues!

J'avais en moi tant de rouille tenace

Qui me rongeait, a dents rapaces,

La confiance.

J'etais si lourd, j'etais si las,

J'etais si vieux de mefiance,

J'etais si lourd, j'etais si las

Du vain chemin de tous mes pas.

Je meritais si peu la merveilleuse joie

De voir tes pieds illuminer ma voie,

Que j'en reste tremblant encore et presque en pleurs

Et humble, a tout jamais, en face du bonheur.

But in her study of Verhaeren, Miss Lowell mentions with the faintest
praise this his best work. "Verhaeren's love story has evidently been
tranquil and happy. The poems are very sweet and graceful, but it must
be confessed not of extreme importance. They are all written in regular
metre, which seems almost typical of their calm and unoriginal flow.
Verhaeren does not belong to the type of man to whom love is a divine
adventure. He has regarded it as a beneficent haven in which to repair
himself for new departures."11 Miss Lowell is not aware of the unpleas-
ant and immoral implication in her criticism. But others, less reputable,
know the fraternal relation of free verse and indecencies; and for
purposes of their own, they strive to gain vogue for ideas of unrestraint.
Does not every poet or artist bring his own form with him? In
making new rhythms was Whitman more revolutionary than every new
poet is ? An artist's manner of expression is part of his individuality. It
is unlike any other artist's, just as his face and voice are unlike. But all
are of a type, and the usual ambition of an artist has been to shine with
"new grace in old forms." In the upbuilding process of evolution, a
discarding of past experience, a cut across old traditions, a radical casting
aside of everything hitherto found convenient, seems like a surgical
operation upon the human frame. Whether successful or not, it is an
experiment to save an imperilled condition. The arts may come into
states of peril, as the body does, where cutting may be necessary to further

"Ibid, pp. 44, 45.

BOLSHEVIK VERSE 239

the main process of upbuilding. But it is at least unwise to make the
medicine of life its daily food. Take an example from painting. Claude
Monet paints pictures differently from every other artist — some of his
lily-ponds have the charm of life. But why should he take the trouble
involved in building up for himself an entirely new method of applying
pigment? The picture in the Metropolitan Museum — sunlight on Rouen
Cathedral — is a masterpiece, if seen at sufficient distance. But is not
that method defective which cannot obtain its result save with distance?
If Monet had chosen to train himself in traditional methods, is it not
possible that his genius would have won even higher rank than he holds ?
Granted the success of his experiment — pigment laid on with a knife, so
thick that at normal distance the canvas looks more like blobs of paint
than a picture, is it anything but an antic? Free verse is a similar
experiment. Traditional metrical forms were given new and rich grace
by Swinburne, a contemporary of Whitman. Whitman had a Bolshevist
nature. He chose to reject experience and to innovate. There is not
one of his "free" verses that could not have been put equally well or
better in regular metrical form.12 He discarded tried success for vague
possibilities.

Whitman's descendants descend from one side of him only, the lower
personality, the crude animal, the ill-bred, blatant villager. He had
insisted that the facts of life, and not romance, are the right subject for
poetry. His literary sons write about the fleshy facts of life, unradiated
by the divine light which alone lifts physical life above the plane of the
charnel house. They celebrate

The carnal buoyance and the common sense
Of sane and sensual humanity.18

All who have read Dante know what a dreadful thing the Inferno is.
Many people prefer to leave it unread until they have understood some-
thing of the Paradiso which explains why the corpses are dead in sin.
Spoon River,1* and other writings of the kind, are an Inferno without
any explanatory and relieving Paradiso. They are a cynical record of
sordid, earthy events, life as it might be viewed from a Police Court, life
uninterpreted by the soul — suicide, sexuality, the whole body of death.
In carrying out Whitman's ideas, these men and women reach a position
of belligerency and hostility against the nation that would horrify his
nebulous expectations. Mr. Masters concludes a piece of military portrai-
ture with this hideous treason.

u Consider the second stanza of his well-known "When lilacs last in the dooryard bloom'd."
A good student in a college course on verse forms could (and would be obliged to) work up
these lazy broken lines into something that would pass muster.

O powerful western fallen star!

O shades of night — O moody, tearful night!

O great star disappeared — O the black murk that hides the star!

O cruel hands that hold me powerless — O helpless soul of me!

O harsh surrounding cloud that will not free my soul.
"John Hall Wheelock.
14 Spoon River Anthology, by Edgar Lee Masters.

240 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY
bullying, hatred, degradation among us,

And days of loathing and nights of fear

To the hour of the charge through the steaming swamp,

Following the flag,

Till I fell with a scream, shot through the guts.

Now there's a flag over me in Spoon River!

A flag! a flag!

Mr. Wood (Charles Erskine Scott), another counterfeiter, incites to a
Red Guard orgy of murder and theft. He tries to invest with heroism
men as devoid of heroism, loyalty, and principle as those who organize
the industrial strikes of the day.

The victims of the God of Gold

No longer march into his blood-dripping maw.

Their faces are set toward Death.

Their breasts are naked.

They have beaten their hammers and saws into knives.

Their eyes are fixed. They are willing to die.

Death is their drummer, drumming

Upon the unknown graves of the oppressed.

At the front of the terrible army flaunt two great standards,
Writhing like giant dragons above the sea of gray faces.
On one is written, "Justice;"
On the other, "Freedom."

They are written in blood.

The foreigner on our shores, the young Italian draft obstructor (as it
is euphemistically phrased), Giovanitti, is another son of Whitman's
Bolshevism. He preaches a riot of anarchy as the next step toward the
consummation of brotherhood which looms indefinitely in the future.

Arise, and against every hand jeweled with the rubies of murder,

Against every mouth that sneers at the tears of mercy,

Against every foul smell of the earth,

Against every head that a footstool raises over your head,

Against every word that was written before this was said,

Against every happiness that never knew sorrow,

And every glory that never knew love and sweat,

Against silence and death, and fear

Arise with a mighty roar !

Arise and declare your war ;

For the wind of the dawn is blowing,

For the eyes of the East are glowing,

For the lark is up and the cock is crowing,

And the day of judgment is here !

BOLSHEVIK VERSE 241

Another of this anarchist band, writing in admiration of the passage from
Giovanitti says : "It is such a fusing of beauty, belligerence and purpose
as upsets our standards and rears one of its own. And if Art cannot
make room for the message, it is more than likely that Art will be
uncomfortably crowded by a force stronger than itself."16 That comment
is a summons to destroy civilization as Jewish leaders are doing in Russia.
It plans the overthrow of all that has with difficulty been achieved by
humanity, — the overthrow of order, of morals, of taste.

Miss Amy Lowell is the ablest and most gifted of these writers, —
and she is truly gifted. She is cultivated, and draws from past and
present, material to be fashioned by her art. Primarily, she is artist,
and not, as many of the others, social reformer ; though cynicism in her
general attitude makes her influence revolutionary in ethics as well as in
art. As she is more gifted and more cultivated, her lineage is more
ancient than is her associates'. She passes beyond Whitman to De
Quincey. In her most ambitious volume, Can Grande's Castle, her
individual variety of poetic dream shows itself clearly — the drug dream.
The four long "poems" that make up the volume are of the genre
of De Quincey's "English Mail Coach" essay — an opium symphony
formed around an incident. At first, the incident begets images that are
entirely spectral ; afterwards, as the power of the dream wanes, the images
seem more confused by grains of fact floating among them. The book
is a kind of poetic interpretation of history. The longest "poem" (one
hundred pages) is an interpretative history of the bronze horses on St.
Mark's Cathedral, Venice. Short sections of this long "poem" are
printed in italics, presumably, because of deeper significance. The
following is the italicized section which opens the poem. It is headed
"Elements."

Earth, Air, Water, and Fire ! Earth beneath, Air encompassing,
Water within its boundaries. But Fire is nothing, comes from
nothing, goes nowhither. Fire leaps forth and dies, yet is everything
sprung out of Fire.

The flame grows and drops away, and where it stood is vapour,
and where was the vapour is swift revolution, and where was the
revolution is spinning resistance, and where the resistance endured
is crystallization. Fire melts, and the absence of Fire cools and
freezes. So are metals fused in twisted flames and take on a form
other than that they have known, and this new form shall be to them
rebirth and making. For in it they will stand upon the Earth, and
in it they will defy the Air, and in it they will suffer the Water.

But Fire, coming again, the substance changes and is trans-
formed. Therefore are things known only between burning and
burning. The quickly consumed more swiftly vanish, yet all must

" The New Era in American Poetry, by Louis Untermeyer.

16

242 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

feel the heat of the flame which waits in obscurity, knowing its own
time and what work it has to do.

Can any one tell what is meant, or meant to be suggested, by this
flow of words that is reminiscent of science and metaphysics and old
philosophies? Does not its style remind one of Mrs. Eddy? And also
of the diplomatic correspondence from this country to Germany before
war was declared? One's comment upon those notes was: "a fine
flow of words but where do they touch fact? Mere rhetoric." Miss
Lowell was less restrained by facts than were our diplomats. She has
produced rhetorical opium dreams — vapours that float now into one
semblance, now another. She calls her form, "polyphonic (many-voiced)
prose ;" and based it upon the "long, flowing cadence of oratorical prose."
We are acquainted with gush of words irrespective of facts from the
utterances of our politicians. They have brought oratory into bad repute
with us and made us prefer a plain business style. Miss Lowell's drug
dreams are not romance. We prefer to them the most matter-of-fact
statements about the weather.

Her poetic gift is evident throughout the volume. How like an
incantation of the Fates are the lines :

The shuttle shoots,

The shuttle weaves.

The red thread to the blue thread cleaves;

The web is plaiting which nothing unreaves.

What lyrical quality there is in her Hedge song!

Hedges of England, peppered with sloes;

Hedges of England, rows and rows

Of thorn and brier,

Raying out from the fire

Where London burns with its steaming lights,

Throwing a glare on the sky o'nights.

Can any one explain why Miss Lowell prefers to print such lines, not as
we have ventured to arrange them, conventionally, but solidly across the
page thus : "Hedges of England, peppered with sloes ; hedges of England,
rows and rows of thorn and brier raying out from the fire where London
burns with its steaming lights, throwing a glare on the sky o'nights." A
convention is not a cramping restraint. It is what experience has found
a convenient way of dealing with a given situation. If he wish, a man
may put on a rubber overshoe next to his skin, his leather shoe over
that, and last of all draw on his sock. He may argue that his foot is as
well protected as when conventionally clad. But only those who are
bursting with self-assertion will follow his example. Miss Lowell's
songs are poetic. She would be wise to cultivate her gift in tried
methods, not to waste it in foolish eccentricities.

What is true in this respect, of Miss Lowell is true of Mr. Masters,

BOLSHEVIK VERSE 243

but reversely. His "verses" are newspaper statements no matter how
he arranges them on the printed page.

"Why did Albert Schirding kill himself trying to be County Super-
intendent of Schools, blest as he was with the means of life and wonderful
children, bringing him honor ere he was sixty? If even one of my boys
could have run a news-stand, or one of my girls could have married a
decent man, I should not have walked in the rain and jumped into bed
with clothes all wet, refusing medical aid."16

The criticism which contrasts one poet with another only to prove
that the second has not the virtues of the first is of little profit. It is
destructive, and does not build up taste. One hesitates, therefore, in
placing a new writer in contrast with a great poet of the past. But the
protection of taste makes it necessary at times. The romance of the
commonplace is a fact, though usually religion is necessary to find it.
Wordsworth's poems reveal the heroic and romantic in lives that appear
dull. We remember the adverse criticism against which Wordsworth
had to struggle. It warns us that a new poet could make beautiful verse
out of common things, even without the Grasmere landscape as a charm-
ing background. But for all that warning, and in spite of cordial
consideration, we do not find anything attractive and picturesque, anything
that suggests romance and heroism, in such common lines as Mr. Robert
Frost's "Cow in Apple Time,"

Something inspires the only cow of late

To make no more of a wall than an open gate,

And think no more of wall-builders than fools.

Her face is flecked with pomace and she drools

A cider syrup. Having tasted fruit,

She scorns a pasture withering to the root.

She runs from tree to tree where lie and sweeten

The windfalls spiked with stubble and worm-eaten.

She leaves them bitten when she has to fly.

She bellows on a knoll against the sky.

Her udder shrivels and the milk goes dry.

Nor are Mr. Frost's country people any better than his cow. His
two farmers mending a wall may have been picturesque and quaint.
Mr. Frost, however, did not find poetic traits in them. He found the

"Mr. Masters prints the above thus:

Why did Albert Schirding kill himself

Trying to be County Superintendent of Schools,

Blest as he was with the means of life

And wonderful children, bringing him honor

Ere he was sixty?

If even one of my boys could have run a news-stand,

Or one of my girls could have married a decent man,

I should not have walked in the rain

And jumped into bed with clothes all wet,

Refusing medical aid.

244 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

commonplace. And his boy swinging birches — do we not inevitably
contrast him with the Boy of Winander ?

One by one he subdued his father's trees

By riding them down over and over again

Until he took the stiffness out of them,

And not one but hung limp, not one was left

For him to conquer. He learned all there was

To learn about not launching out too soon

And so not carrying the tree away

Clear to the ground. He always kept his poise

To the top branches, climbing carefully

With the same pains you use to fill a cup

Up to the brim, and even above the brim.

Then he flung outward, feet first, with a swish,

Kicking his way down through the air to the ground.

It is not Mr. Frost's subject that is unfit. It is his treatment; it is
himself ; he cannot see the romantic.

These writers would like to call themselves Realists — men who think
they see the naked facts of life. They forget the subjective element in
sight. A man sees in a pebble or a sunset, or an individual or an event,
the contents of his own soul — nothing less, nothing more. If he have a
soul, and his soul has made connection with the facts of real life in the
spiritual world, then he will see all human existence irradiated from the
central light. Whatever that real light falls upon will shine, no matter
how dull the substance of which it is made. Without that illumination by
the soul, all human existence can appear only as decomposing matter.
Its institutions, which are instruments to be used for the purposes of the
soul, and are therefore venerable, will seem decrepit. Its sacrifices and
restraints, imposed for purposes of the soul, will seem outgrown pueril-
ities that thwart self-expression. Noblesse and other aspirations and
ideals that filter through from the spiritual into the human plane will
appear as some form of self-seeking. Materialists with no soul back of
their eyes to direct their sight will see nothing noble in life, and will seek
from it only opportunities for self-indulgence and self-assertion. They
will hate and renounce every restraint upon the false freedom of the lower
nature. They will make battle flags and battle cries of free verse, free
love, and every detestable thing, miscalled free.

Fortunately the future is open, and the power of choice is indeed
free. It is possible for America — or, at least, for a few individuals who
are resolved to continue Americans, in spite of the invasion of our country
by Jewish and other aliens with degrading materialist aims, — to choose
what she wishes to represent her. A great poet does not open a new
era ; he synthesizes a closing one. Virgil synthesized Roman civilization
that had past its midday of effort and had grown palled with over-rich
possession. The regret of satiety, the heart-break over fallen things,

BOLSHEVIK VERSE 245

lachrymae reruni, these pervade his poetry. Dante synthesizes medie-
valism, the consciousness of a real world within, which is the goal of
effort, and the standard by which all outer things are valued. And
Whitman's egotism ! it synthesizes the past, not the future. In the light
of Russia, and its Jewish tyrants, and its proletariat paradise, can we
perhaps see that some of the American characteristics we have hitherto
admired are essentially subversive and devilish? There is a village on
the Hudson that socially and morally is one of a family of villages, east
and west. After several generations of villagers had passed their small
sordid lives, some families from the city entered the neighbourhood.
These families were aristocrats of an old type. They had wealth, ideals,
morals and manners. The servants of these families ventured to join
in the public festivities of the village. They were servants, many of
them, with twenty years to their credit in one position. They were
cleaner than the villagers, more intelligent, and many degrees higher in
morals. But the villagers had only one word to receive them — the oppro-
brious word, "servants". Is there anything that better expresses the
attitude of these old American villagers than Lucifer's summing up of
the situation at the opening of Paradise Lost?

Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven.

The anarchists, free verse children of Whitman, synthesize the
quarter century that followed his activity. If we are wise, we shall recog-
nize in their debased aims and debased work the logical consequences
of their father's depravity. And we shall then make our choice. We
shall maintain that the vulgar and immoral side of Whitman represents
America at no epoch of her development. And we shall see to it that
our part of America for the future makes toward the goal pointed out
in Whitman's noble lines:

Passage to more than India!

Passage, immediate passage ! the blood burns in my veins !

Away O soul ! hoist instantly the anchor !

Cut the hawsers — haul out — shake out every sail !

Have we not stood here like trees in the ground long enough ?

Have we not grovel'd here long enough, eating and drinking

like mere brutes?
Have we not darken'd and dazed ourselves with books long

enough ?

Sail forth — steer for the deep waters only,
Reckless O soul, exploring, I with thee, and thou with me,
For we are bound where mariner has not yet dared to go,
And we will risk the ship, ourselves and all.17

C. C. CLARK.

XT From "Passage to India."

POSITIVE OR NEGATIVE?

"It would be a mistake to ground our peace on the virtue of others."

THESE words from a book of Meditations gave rise to the query :
To what extent is our peace of mind, our inward poise, affected
by the attitude and actions of others? Someone is unkind or
inconsiderate and selfish, or is cross and impatient. Is our
peace thereby affected? The weather is disagreeable, our digestion is
bad, the cook has spoiled the dinner. Is our equilibrium disturbed by
such trivialities? If so, we may be sure it is because we permit ourselves
a negative attitude towards life, instead of maintaining a positive one.
We are too often inclined to blame something or somebody for this
disturbance of our "peace"; or we may be vaguely conscious that we
ourselves are somehow responsible, but we are too indolent or too full
of self-love to push the matter further. The consequence is that the
majority of mankind spend their days in seeking their "peace" from
their surroundings — congenial companions or what-not. In all activities
of life, success or failure is attributable to one or the other of these
attitudes. The unsuccessful man is timid, weak, vacillating, the victim
of circumstances, because of his negativeness, and is inclined to add the
fault of attributing his failure to others, or to circumstances, instead of
placing the blame where it belongs — upon himself ; or, what is far worse,
he becomes discouraged. The strong man, the leader among men, by
maintaining the positive attitude, is master of circumstances because he
is master of himself. The weak nature is the prey of the moods of
others ; the strong nature is not subject to them. "For any man all
those around him are merely looking-glasses. According to his own
mood towards them, according to the "face" he makes at them, will be
their response. In every man there is good and there is evil; and our
idea of him depends on our own power of touching the good or the evil
in him. When we make the good in him vibrate, we think well of
him; when we arouse the evil, we think he himself is bad." The
negative attitude or "mood," therefore, works harm, while the positive
makes for good, in others as well as in ourselves. How could it be
otherwise when we recall that : "Thoughts are things, they live and
pulsate and are unconfined by time or space"?

Another aspect of the subject is to be found in military tactics, one
of the fundamentals of which is that the best defence is an attack;
and yet another, that the objective must always be kept in mind. It
is related of General McClellan of the Union Army in Civil War days
that he was of such a cautious nature that he consumed much time in
preparing his army against attack, and was continually waiting for more
men and supplies before he was willing to take the offensive, and that
these interminable delays finally resulted in his being relieved of his
command. His trouble was a negative, instead of a positive attitude.
He lost sight of his objective — the attack and eventual routing of the

246

POSITIVE OR NEGATIVE? 247

enemy. In striking contrast is the memorable statement of General
Grant: "I will fight it out on this line if it takes all summer." No
hesitation or timidity here; the strong, positive nature dominated the
situation by steady, persistent adherence to a principle.

When we enter the realm of the spiritual world, does not the
aspirant for discipleship encounter the same difficulty — more subtle,
perhaps, but still the expression upon a higher plane of the same tendency
of frail human nature? Instead of drifting with the varying tides of
life, he should develop and maintain a firm purpose which will permit
no deviation from the path he has marked out for himself, and allow
nothing to dissipate his energy. That would be a waste of time, and
therefore wrong. How much precious time and how many golden
opportunities for service have we lost by allowing ourselves to become
side-tracked by the whims and actions of others? The progress of the
would-be disciple is not dependent upon others ; he should not allow his
efforts to serve, to be diverted or perverted by the attitude of others.

He who aspires to discipleship must learn self-reliance, for he must
build his character alone, unsupported, and uninfluenced. No one else
can do it for him. If he relies upon others for aid, support, comfort,
sympathy, or approval, he is not following the road that leads to self-
mastery, to ultimate freedom. He may even flatter himself that he is
practising detachment, which he cannot do, if at the same time he forget
its twin, or positive aspect, recollection. Or, in attempting to rid himself
of a fault, he may ignore the fact that his effort in that direction should
not be merely a negative process, but that it involves a positive attitude
and action. Detachment from creatures and created things, including
the personal self with its moods and desires, involves attachment to or
identification with the real, or Higher Self, while recollection involves
the positive creation or transforming of the personal into the Eternal
Self. These are positive acts of the will to make the "steady effort
to stand in spiritual being," of which Patanjali writes. Mere animal
positiveness, which is so often mistaken for strength of character, but
which is nothing less than the utter selfishness and exaggerated ego of
the lower nature, must not be mistaken for the positiveness of the
spiritual man, whose life and growth depend upon the subjection of his
lower, or personal self. With all the powers of the spiritual world to
draw upon, the would-be disciple should possess the utmost calmness,
confidence, and serenity in the knowledge that he is "immortal, dwelling
in the Light, encompassed and sustained by spiritual powers" which he
is seeking to make his own. When he thus "recollects" and claims his
heritage, his will be the dauntless courage of the warrior, the will to
conquer in spite of all obstacles, and unswerving loyalty and devotion
to his objective — the service of his Master.

"It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul." H.

ALSACE=LORRAINE

PART III
SECTION IV

THERE can be no question of the pro-French feeling of both
Alsace and Lorraine to-day. It is too well known, the enthusi-
astic reception of Allied armies, both during the War and since
the Armistice, has been too widely described and pictured, for
any demonstration of the fact to be necessary. That there is a pro-
German element still existing in both provinces, particularly in the cities,
is possible, and even probable, seeing that German immigration has
amounted to over three hundred thousand (excluding soldiers) during the
past two generations. But at least ninety per cent of the indigenous
populace, both urban and rural, is to-day enthusiastically and thankfully
French.

Likewise, since 1871, that part of Alsace-Lorraine which was forcibly
annexed by Germany has given repeated, emphatic, and tangible evidence
of its loyalty to France. It is not merely that, since 1871, about 500,000,
out of a population originally less than 1,600,000, have left their homes
rather than remain under German rule1; that "The Legion," France's
mutual aid society for retired officers, subalterns and men, numbered
160,000 Alsace-Lorrainers who, since 1871, served in the French Foreign
Legion; that all of the fifteen deputies to the German Reichstag time
after time were elected for their pro-French sympathies, despite govern-
ment pressure (1874, 1881, 1884, 1887), and openly voiced their protests2;
and that where Germany had in 1917 only two officers of sufficient rank
to be known, who were of pure Alsatian blood, France had at least
seventeen Generals, one hundred and twenty-four Colonels and other
officers of rank, and literally hundreds of Captains and Lieutenants.
Lorraine contributed at least nineteen Generals, among them Mangin,
Maud'huy, and d'Urbal, and the full quota of lesser officers.3 More than

1 The German official statistics give only the excess of emigrants over immigrants, which
from 1871 to 1910 total 267,639. M. Georges Weill has estimated the actual number of native
emigrants to number close to a million. H. and A. Lichtenberger in their La Question d'Alsac-t-
Lorraine, 7th ed. 1918, p. 18. endorse M. Eccard's estimate of 500,000. The declaration of the
"Alsace-Lorraine Societies" puts the figure at "about 400,000 to 1914"; and the French Socialist!
in a resolution of their congress of 1915, state that "since 1871 up to 1914," 421,000 "have leff
to establish themselves in France." There were in 1917 nearly 75,000 in the United States.
The population in the Reichsland in 1910 was 1,874,014; showing the enormous German immi-
gration, as all foreigners — French, Italians, Swiss, etc., number only some 75,000.

1 Cf . Verhandlung des Reichstags, especially 16th and 18th February, 1874; January 31st
1895; June 13th, 1896; May 7th, 1897, etc., right down to 1914.

* In alphabetical order, the Alsatian Generals are: Bourgeois, Burckhardt, Caudrelier,
Dantant, de Dartein, Dubail, Dubois, Duport. Ebener, Faes, Galon, Leblois, Camille Levi,
Armau de Pouydraguin, Reibel, Schmidt, Taufflieb.

The Lorraine Generals are: d'Andernay. Bizot, Blondin, Diou, Dupuis, Hennocque, Hirsch-
auer, de Lardemelle. Lecomte, Mangin, Maud'huy, Mauger, Micheler, Poline, Putz, Sibille
Trumelet-Faber, d'Urbal, de Vassart.

248

ALSACE-LORRAINE 249

all that, a minimum of 30,000 Alsatians drafted into the German armies,
successfully deserted to the French ; and when the French General Staff
offered to send these men for colonial service, thus releasing Frenchmen
who, if captured, could not be classed by Germany as traitors, not a
single man availed himself of this safeguard, but insisted on fighting the
common enemy. German headquarters took cognizance of these deser-
tions, and regiments from the "Reichsland" were dispersed, sent to the
Russian front, and "all Alsace-Lorrainers . . . are declared to be unre-
liable"4 states an official army order.

True to type, and in the face of her claims, the actual German regime
in Alsace-Lorraine since 1871 has done more to maintain, if not promote,
pro-French and anti-German feeling than any similar period of 44 years in
the whole history of these provinces. They were not even treated on a
basis of equality with other parts of the Empire, but were governed,
without any effective representation or power even of protest, by a
Statthalter (which M. Blumenthal aptly translates "Vice-King"),
appointed by the King of Prussia (i.e. the Emperor), responsible only to
him, and sole arbiter of the law and its enforcement throughout the
"Reichsland." The local senate could neither make nor veto laws; the
impotent deputies to the Reichstag were jeered, insulted, and roared at in
characteristic Reichstag fashion whenever they spoke; and the three
votes conceded to Alsace-Lorraine in the Bundesrat (Federal Council
representing the chief states in the Empire) were only to be cast as
directed by the Statthalter, with the naively extraordinary proviso that
whenever "a favourable majority vote for Prussia cannot be polled in
the Bundesrat except with the help of the Alsatian vote, those votes will
be counted" !5 And it was not merely that there was a studied campaign
of suppression of everything French, that the teaching of the French
language was forbidden in the schools, local and baptismal names had to
be rendered into German equivalents, and all memorial societies for
former heroes, shooting and glee clubs, etc., disbanded. This persecution
was bad enough. But it was the manner in which these irritating regula-
tions were enforced, which was so German (in its post-War sense).
Men were arrested for no reason, and after a night in jail, released;
anonymous accusations were accepted as sufficient proof of guilt; an
espionage system undermined good faith and all sense of security; and
withal, typical roughness, discourtesy, brutality. The result was that
even the Germans themselves ceased to marvel that Alsace-Lorrainers
did not turn to the Fatherland.

« Official army order of Colonel Von Bibra, 54th Reserve Infantry. 80th Reserve Division,
January 25, 1918. Text quoted from Washington by the Evening Sun, February 1st, 1918. The
preceding figures are quoted on the authority of a French High Commissioner to this country,
and from propaganda pamphlets published semi-officially in Paris.

• Alsace-Lorraine, p. 44, by M. Daniel Blumenthal, former Mayor of Colmar and Deputy
to the Reichstag. An excellent sketch, by an ardent patriot, of Alsatian history and feeling.
M. Blumenthal has been condemned to death eight times in German courts for treason to the
Imperial German State, and has received sentences of more than five hundred years' imprisonment
and penal servitude for the offence of speaking the truth about his fellow-countrymen.

250 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

German admissions of this fact have a peculiar importance in view
of German claims. It is not merely that the prefect of Berlin's police,
Von Jagow, wrote about the Saverne outrage, in January, 1914, that
"Germans in Alsace-Lorraine should consider themselves as 'in an enemy
country' " ; or that when hostilities broke out, German officers ordered
their troops to load their guns when they crossed the Rhine into Alsace-
Lorraine, for the same reason.6 The Cologne Gazette for the 8th and
9th of March, 1916, in concluding that the only way to Germanize Alsace
was to annex it directly to Bavaria, said : "At the present hour, Alsace-
Lorraine is not a German country," and it further speaks of "the antipathy
of Alsace-Lorrainers for Germanism." The attitude of a Mr. Emil
Degener-Boning, from south Germany, quoted at length by the Journal d'
Alsace-Lorraine, January 21st, 1914, under the title "A German voice on
Saverne," expresses neighbouring German opinion, and can be summarized
by one of his own sentences : — "The country has become German, but
the spirit of the people has remained French, and Alsace-Lorraine has
revolted against the violation of her rights. This has not been an open
resistance or revolt. What could she do against the millions of German
bayonets ? Interiorly, she has organized a passive resistance ; it has been
the spirit against the might of the sword."

These German admissions are drawn from the public press; but
there have been many confirmations in official and semi-official utterances.
Prince von Hohenlohe-Schillingsfiirst, Statthalter from 1887 to 1894, who
replaced the affable and considerate Manteuffel with direct instructions
from Bismarck to undertake a rigorous "Kulturkampf"7, writes to the
Conference of Ministers on the 27th of October, 1887, that "We cannot
deny that we have had great unrest this year in the country"8 ; and on the
8th of May, 1888, in his Journal, "It seems that at Berlin [i.e. Bismarck]
they have been asking for so many vexatious measures in order that the
inhabitants of Elsass-Lothringen should be made desperate and driven
to revolt, so that then they can say that the civil administration has been
worthless, and that this lamentable state of affairs must be cleared up.
Thereupon the civil authority will pass to the Commanding General, and
the Statthalter must step down."9 Deputy Jacques Preiss from Stras-
bourg, who said of himself to the Reichstag in 1895 that "I belong to the
younger generation," nevertheless added : "But I must say that if a freer
regime is not introduced in Alsace-Lorraine, then the young generation
will always oppose German assimilation more and more strongly. We
young fellows, we are not of the generation of 1870, which on account of
the Option, and through emigration, has suffered so great a decimation
of exactly those elements which are most steadfast and unresisting. . . .

• See, for instance, the Paris Le Journal, September 19th, 1917.

1 "Jetzt wurde das ohne Kulturkampf nicht moglich sein". P. 409, vol. II, et seq.. Denk-
wiirdigkeiten des F&rsten Chlodivig «u Hohenlohe-SchtiHngsf&rst; a letter from Bismarck in 1887
He is frequently praised by Bismarck for his firm hand.

• Op. cit., p. 427.

• Op. cit., p. 432.

ALSACE-LORRAINE 251

If, Gentlemen, you do not introduce a more liberal regime, you will find
by experience that a much more energetic opposition against an inner
fusion will arise out of this young generation than has been the case
since 1870."10 The testimony of German immigrants themselves could
be added to show that they found the governing system in Alsace-Lorraine
intolerable. The sum of these converging lines of contemporary testi-
mony is unanswerable, because it is absolutely voluntary and spontaneous.
It cannot be denied.

The burden of proof in every case, on every side, rests with the
Germans. The German thesis, the German claims, were founded on lies,
and for the most part, deliberate, conscious lies. There is no further
need to prove the facts as far as modern events go, because the War,
and the actual, contemporary course of events, carry their own proof in
themselves. It is not a complicated question of historic interpretation, for
instance, that the old French department of Bas-Rhin in Alsace has asked
Qemenceau to run as its candidate for the Chamber of Deputies (October,
1919.) It was Clemenceau, who, with Victor Hugo, Louis Blanc,
and thirty-three republican deputies, met the day after the famous session
of the National Assembly at Bordeaux (February 18th, 1871), which
within two weeks was forced to disannex the provinces, and addressed
to the protesting Alsace-Lorraine deputies one short, poignant paragraph
of sympathy. These latter had maintained that "France cannot consent
to, nor sign, the cession of Lorraine and of Alsace"; that "Alsace and
Lorraine refuse to be alienated"; that they "protest vehemently against
all cession. France cannot consent to it. Europe cannot sanction it.
Believing this to be true, we take our fellow-citizens of France, the
governments and peoples of the whole world to witness, that in advance
we hold as null and void all acts and treaties, votes or plebiscites which
shall consent to the abandonment of the whole or a part of our provinces
of Alsace and Lorraine in favour of foreigners."11 Qemenceau and his
friends replied, "Like you, we consider beforehand as null and void any
act or treaty, any vote or plebiscite, approving the cession of any portion
whatever of Alsace or Lorraine. Come what may, the citizens of those
two countries will remain our fellow-countrymen and brothers, and the
Republic promises them to uphold that claim forever." No wonder,
despite the 48 years that have intervened, the repatriated Alsatians to-day
ask Clemenceau to represent them before France, and before the world.

To write, therefore, a history of Alsace-Lorraine to-day, which
tries to prove that the peoples of these provinces were and are German,
is simply to romance. There is no foundation in fact ; there is no history
to be written on any such thesis. The proof is in the outcome. Alsace
and Lorraine are French because they want to be. Alsace and Lorraine
are French because they know that they are a part of the soul of France, —

10 Verhandlung des Reichstags, 1894-95, I, January 31st, p. 622, A & B.

11 Annals of the National Assembly, I, p. 61, and Journal Officiel, 22 February, 1871; third
year, No. S3, p. 109.

252 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

and that France knows that they are one with her. What did M. Viviani
mean when he declared of Alsace-Lorraine, before the French Senate,
June fifth, 1917, that "She is an integral part of our soul"? The French
understand what this means ; and the fact that Alsatians and Lorrainers
have placed their reliance on this spiritual bond, and, in official documents
and through official representatives, have maintained "the inviolable right
of Alsatians and of Lorrainers to remain forever members of the French
nation," — by this assertion of a spiritual fact, and by adherence to it,
they have proved that they know whereof they speak, and have established
the validity of their claim.

The growth of this union with France, which might more properly be
called a reunion, stretches back over eleven centuries. That the real
France was born in the Greek and Roman period, and came to a relatively
full and conscious maturity about the time of Philip Augustus, seventh
Capetian, has already been suggested in the preceding section. From the
break-up of the Carolingian Empire, Alsace and parts, at times most, of
Lorraine, were split up under alien rulers, and were only occasionally in
direct touch with the French centre. But despite German claims. to the
contrary, one can trace to an extraordinary extent, considering the actual
crudity if not barbarity of the times, the same conception of a national
being, of a spiritual entity — France, the old "regnuni Francorum," — to
which Lorrainers, and, later, Alsatians openly proclaimed allegiance. And
this openly avowed allegiance is attested by the strongly marked French
influence, and reciprocity with things French, that is not only self-evident
in most of Lorraine, — which has always retained a preponderance of
French civilization and French speech, — but even in so-called German
Alsace, where, through the German-seeming medium of the Alsatian
dialect, the spirit of French ideals and culture shines as clearly as Alsatian
architecture found its models in Gothic cathedrals, or Alsatian scholarship
received the bulk of its training in southern universities.

The progressive recognition of a French national being, to which
Alsatians and Lorrainers wished to belong, and the growth of the pro-
French tendencies of both peoples, is a matter for historic research. It
cannot, however, be an academic question, because where certain results
are already known, the causes of those results have a predetermined
sequence. No arguing to the contrary can disprove the fact that Lorraine
and even Alsace are French. And whatever forces acting against that
result may be advanced by the German thesis, those forces were not
decisive, and therefore were not the causes which produced that result.
Other causes, and pro-French causes, must have been at work ; and in any
estimate of the relative effect of pro-French as against pro-German
influence, the ultimate outcome must never be forgotten ; — that Alsatians
and Lorrainers are to-day French.

It is exactly for this reason that the history of these two peoples is
so interesting. Their history proves that the spirit prevails over mundane
affairs. Because for so many centuries France was divided against itself

ALSACE-LORRAINE 253

or conquered by the English, and because these border peoples were
repeatedly overrun by German kings or bandits, forced to learn their
language, and in great measure dependent on them for what little safety
or culture they could obtain, all the external material circumstances were
against their ever becoming French. But the hearts of men are not bound
by material circumscriptions; human preferences often have no rational
explanation, and perhaps no amount of alien oppression can alter the
actual texture of the soul.

The peoples of Alsace and Lorraine were French, loved France, and
often hated the Germans. From the time when the Bishops of Metz and
Toul in 1146 "could not abide the Germans"12, until now, there has been
that feeling on the part of Lorrainers. In Alsace, the exigencies of
conquest and isolation caused the people to evince an intense local patri-
otism. Hardly less than the Swiss did the Alsatian cities and bishoprics
maintain indigenous independence; and the Decapolis of free cities, the
constant rebellion against Hapsburg interference, and the virtual emanci-
pation of all the feudatories under nominal allegiance to the Holy Roman
Emperor, proved the temper of the inhabitants. "To deny to the Alsatian
populations, the existence in the past, — even the most remote past — of an
Alsatian patriotism, of a common national consciousness, is an historic
mistake just as serious as to refuse to acknowledge the intimate affinities
which united the Alsatian spirit with the French spirit"13, says M. Flach.

Therefore, when Alsace, after seven centuries of vicissitudes, volun-
tarily, piece by piece, opened her doors to Louis XIV, with some
reluctance to lose her autonomy, but with an overwhelming recognition of
her French affiliations, there is an even stronger right on her part to
maintain her nationality. This is repeatedly emphasized by Alsatian
orators and writers. Just as a convert is always an enthusiast, so Alsace,
long alienated, awoke to her true inheritance, recovered the full sense of
her former union with France, and wished or willed herself into the
French national being. Victor Hugo's words might fitly apply to her :

" . . . Ah ! Je voudrais,

Je voudrais n'etre pas Frangais pour pouvoir dire
Que je te choisis, France, et que, dans ton martyre,
Je te proclame, toi que ronge le vautour,
Ma patrie et ma gloire et mon unique amour !" 14

The true history of the Alsatians and of the Lorrainers, therefore,
lies in their inner attitude, in their inner development, more than in a
simple labelling of any particular regime, of any one treaty, or of any
individual ruler. Above all, if we find that a French ideal exists at a

" De Ludovici VII Itinere, Odonis de Dioglio; Pat. Lot., vol. 1852, col. 1218.

" Op. cit., pp. 89-90.

"Written December, 1871. "Ah, I would desire not to be a Frenchman so that I might
be able to say that I choose thee, France; and that in thy martyrdom I might proclaim thee.
whom the vulture devours, my native land, my glory and my only love."

254 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

time when outer political events are under German control, it would be
well to pause and attempt to estimate truly the actual determinative
strength of this ideal. In Lorraine that ideal ran like an undercurrent
throughout the upheavals of the Middle Ages, and effectively restored the
province to France in the 16th century. It has been asserted by compe-
tent historians of Lorraine that not a single one of her local charters
admits the claims of the Austrian Emperors ; while there are a long series
of formal recognitions of the ancient, hereditary claims of the French
kings, which were frequently sustained by popular elections, and deliberate
reversions to the French crown. Jeanne d'Arc, saviour of France itself,
was an epitome of the mediaeval Lorraine spirit.

In Alsace, where the French affiliations suffered greater ruptures
than in Lorraine, the people themselves evolved ideals and principles
which, when they found themselves once more united to France, proved
to be identical with, or complementary to, those of the French. An almost
immediate fusion took place ; and in two generations Alsace was French
to the core. Perhaps the climax to this predisposed harmony was the
Revolution, when France departed so radically from traditional ideals.
Alsace was the stanchest of the new Republican communes, defended
herself and France vigorously against the opportunist invasion of Imperial
Austria, and showed that she had broken entirely with her former masters,
and had bound herself indissolubly to France. As Fustel de Coulanges
wrote in 1870, "Since that moment, Alsace has followed all our fortunes ;
she has lived our life. All that we think, she thinks ; all that we feel, she
feels. She has shared our victories and our reverses ; our glory and our
faults ; all our joys and all our sorrows. She has had nothing in common
with you [i. e. Germany]. To her, France is the native land. To her,
Germany is the stranger." 15

It is impossible in the compass of a magazine article to outline, even,
the causes, the tendencies, the attractions and understandings which led
up to any such final attitude. The proofs lie only in the accumulated
evidence of innumerable events; and, particularly as regards Alsace, lie
below the surface. It is for this reason that no true history of either
province can be limited to political sequences, wars, dynastic upheavals,
and religious controversies, which make up so much of the material for
average studies. It is not sufficient for German historians to proclaim
that Alsace was a feudal appanage of the great mediaeval German Empire
(they mean the Holy, Roman, Austrian, Hapsburg, Empire), and there-
fore necessary to the well-being and completeness of modern Prussia,
because an urdeutsch possession. The determinative factors, even under
Hapsburg suzerainty, were the feelings, aspirations, ambitions and cul-
ture of the people themselves. M. Rodolphe Reuss, already cited in the
course of these pages, has made an exhaustive study of probably the
most critical century of Alsatian history — the seventeenth ; when Alsace,

a Questions Historiques, p. 509 — "L* Alsace, est-elle allemande on f rangaise ?" Cf . R. Reuu,
L' Alsace a« XVI !• siecle, vol. II, pp. 599, ff.

ALSACE-LORRAINE 255

devastated by the Thirty Years' War, was first protected, then annexed,
and finally rehabilitated, and made "infinitely more happy" 16 to use his
phrase, by France. And he has filled fourteen hundred small-type pages
with an enormous mass of detail on "the geographic, historic, adminis-
trative, economic, social, intellectual, and religious," phases of this one
century. Since that time Alsace formed an integral part of France for
two hundred and twenty-three years, — till 1871 ; and there was never any
questioning of its homogeneity with France during all that period. Before
the Treaty of Westphalia (1648), "the origins" of French influence, as
M. Reuss himself says, "have not yet been sufficiently studied in an impar-
tial and critical manner up to this time." 17 The reason is, I think, because
so much of the tie that bound the smaller Alsatian personality to the
larger French soul was an instinctive thing, having its roots in the long-
past history of the two peoples, and depending much more on a sense of
the fitness of things than on purely material considerations. There is
much that is characteristic and distinct from the France of Paris, let us
say, or of the Loire country, in the Alsatian. There is much that is very
Teutonic in form and manner. But, as German observers themselves
admit, Alsatians have after forty-four years of attempted Germanization,
become necessarily German in outer form, but "the spirit of the people
has remained French."

That admission is the true interpretation of the Alsatian. Despite
his dialect, which he insists is a language just as national as Provengal or
Breton, and is not German 18 ; despite his infiltration of German blood,
despite his German ways, despite the many evidences of a Germanism
which to-day has been studiously inculcated by a diabolic tutor, the Alsa-
tian is heart and soul French.

If the Alsatian, if the Lorrainer, have proved through two hundred
and fifty years of intimate contact that they were entirely content to
remain a part of France; if they protested against a forced annexation
to Germany, maintaining their "inviolable right" to remain forever what
they were — i. e., French; if during forty-eight years of captivity and
estrangement, in the face of many material advantages to the contrary,
and with no tangible hope of return to the former happy state, they still
held fast to the ideals, the standards, the culture and the spirit of their
French days ; and if, finally, they have fought beside the French in this
War as for a war of liberation, and, with victory achieved, have returned
to the mother country with thankful hearts and a mutual understanding
of all that has been suffered, too deep to find adequate expression even
in shouts or tears, — why should the world doubt that Alsace and Lorraine
not only should belong to France, but are French?

ACTON GRISCOM.

"Op. cit., vol. II, p. 594.

" Op. cit., vol. I, p. 42.

"A well-attested story relates that an Alsatian peasant, travelling in a strange part of
Alsace, asked his way of a German, naturally in the one language he knew — Alsatian. "Ni*
parler francais" was the reply 1

IS "TIME" A DIMENSION OF
"SPACE"

~~1T ET us come gradually to this knotty question, using a series of
familiar references as stepping-stones. To begin with, readers
X V of The Occult World will remember the Master K. H. saying : "I
feel even irritated at having to use these three clumsy words — past,
present, and future. Miserable concepts of the objective phases of the
subjective whole, they are about as ill-adapted for the purpose as an axe
for fine carving." The commentator on Patanjali, who uses this quota-
tion to illustrate and illumine the thought of the twelfth Sutra of the
fourth book, somewhat irreverently surmises that there must be something
woefully wrong with words that can so far disturb that high, urbane
serenity.

The Sutra in question is translated thus : "The difference between
that which is past and that which is not yet come, according to their
natures, depends on the difference of phase of their properties;" and
there is a certain fitness in quoting, as a commentary on this, the letter
of a Master who is, in a sense, the spiritual grandson of Patanjali.

The next reference, the next stepping-stone, is the clear affirmation,
by the Master who inspired Light on the Path, that certain of the wiser
men of science are the veritable pioneers of humanity, and are breaking
down the wall between the manifested and the occult worlds. Add to this
many definite indications in The Secret Doctrine; for example that the
philosopher Leibniz has, in certain of his speculations, come exceedingly
close to the true occult principles.

This series of stepping-stones is intended to lead up to the thought
that, in the last ten or fifteen years, pioneers among the men of science
have made remarkable progress toward solving the age-old enigma of
"Time," and have gone some distance toward dispelling the mists of
"past, present, and future," which arouse the indignation of the august
author of The Occult World letters.

Notable among these recent semi-occult speculations is the so-called
Theory of Relativity of the physicist-philosopher Einstein, who appears
to be a congener of Leibniz and to possess the same deep and penetrating
insight into cosmic riddles. But before we try to illustrate Einstein's
theory, it may be well to use some simple facts that will lead up to the
deeper mysteries.

A recipe in a once famous cook-book began with the words "Take a
hare !" And this long ago gave rise to the proverb : "First catch your
hare and then cook him !" We shall begin in some such way : Take a
foot-rule ! And we seriously advise every reader who is interested in
solving the enigma of Time to make the experiment.

25b

IS "TIME" A DIMENSION OF "SPACE" 257

Well, take a foot-rule and a bucket of water. The foot-rule is
graduated from 1 to 12 inches. Hold the foot-rule upright above the
surface of the water in the bucket, with the 1-inch end near the surface.
Still holding the foot-rule perpendicularly, lower it gradually till its end
just touches the water. If we suppose the surface of the water to
represent consciousness, then, as the foot-rule just touches the water,
this consciousness will become aware of it.

Let us consider first the edge of the end of the foot-rule, and, of
that edge, the side on which the inch-marks are printed. The edge of
the water along that edge of the foot-rule is a very short straight line;
it has extension in one direction only: the direction of length. It is a
short line of consciousness, just as the slit of the spectroscope is a line
of consciousness.

Continue to plunge the foot-rule directly downward into the water,
holding your attention on the short line of water past which the inch-
marks are descending. If we think of that line of water as a one-dimen-
sional perceiving consciousness, it will be conscious of one inch-mark
after another, perceiving successively all the inch-marks from 1 to 12.

For that one-dimensional consciousness, there will have been a
series of successive impressions, twelve in number ; and its concept of the
foot-rule will be a series of consecutive marks, spread out through a
certain period of time: the time which it has taken you to plunge the
whole length of the foot-rule into the water. In other words, what you
are thinking of, and perceiving, as a foot-rule, a linear foot of "space,"
will be represented in that one-dimensional consciousness as twelve equal
periods of "time." Your space-consciousness will, in his one-dimensional
mind, be represented as a time-consciousness. And he can gain an
impression of linear space, length, the kind of space you measure with a
foot-rule, only in terms of time, in terms of a series of successive impres-
sions spread out through time.

Now let us suppose his consciousness to expand. Instead of being
represented by a line on the water, let it be represented by the whole
surface of the water as a perceiving surface; just as the retina of the
eye or the skin of the palm is a perceiving surface.

The surface of the water, then, represents consciousness with two
dimensions ; not only the first dimension, length, but the second dimension,
breadth also.

Now take the foot-rule and hold it horizontally over the water, with
the edge containing the inch-marks close to the water. Gradually lower
it to the water until the whole series of inch-marks are just immersed.
The consciousness represented by the surface of the water can now
perceive the whole series of twelve marks at the same time. What was
before a series of consecutive impressions of the twelve inch-marks, is
now a single simultaneous impression of all the twelve.

This would all seem to be quite simple and elementary. Yet it is the
key to the whole mystery. The addition of a new dimension of consci-

17

258 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

ousness, the passage from line-consciousness to surface consciousness,
has transformed a time-impression into a space-impression. What was
before successive, containing the element of duration, is now simultaneous,
with the element of time eliminated.

One step more : instead of a foot-rule, take a walking-stick, hold it
upright over the water and plunge it downward as before. The two-
dimensional consciousness represented by the water-surface will perceive
a circle, corresponding to the cross-section of the stick where it passes
from the air to the water ; and, as the stick is plunged down, a series of
circles will be perceived, following each other in time. If there be a
mind behind that surface-consciousness, then the stick will appear in
that mind as an almost endless succession of circles, separated from each
other by the element of time. That mind will not be able to gain any
idea of the stick except as a succession of circles, with the element of
duration holding them together. But you can see the whole stick at once.
With your three-dimensional perception, you receive a single, simultaneous
impression of the whole stick, its length, its shape, its solidity. Your
space-perception takes the place of the time-perception in the mind of the
two-dimensional perceiver.

In each of the two illustrations, — the foot-rule and the walking-
stick — the addition of a dimension to the perceiving consciousness has
transformed a time-perception into a space-perception ; what appeared as
a succession in the lower-dimensioned consciousness, appears as simul-
taneous in the higher-dimensioned consciousness.

We can now come a little closer to Einstein. The writer of this
note has not yet had the opportunity or the time to plunge deeply into
the writings of Einstein himself. For the present, he is under obligations
to an able article in The Evening Sun, by Isabel M. Lewis, who is
connected with the Nautical Almanac Office of the United States Naval
Observatory.

A quotation from this article may be more intelligible, because of
our illustrated prelude :

"Following upon the failure of physicists to define the velocity of
the earth relative to the ether by experimental means, Einstein announced
his hypothesis that it is an impossibility to determine by physical experi-
ments the velocity of the earth relative to the ether; moreover, that an
immobile or rigid ether is unthinkable, and that there is no such thing as
absolute velocity through space for any body, and that measured time
and' space do not exist as independent and self-contained concepts, but
are always conditioned by the phenomena that they are used to describe.

"It is this phase of the Einstein theory that makes it expressible in
terms of the fourth dimensional calculus of Minkowski wherein the
distinction between space and time vanishes. The two become comple-
mentary and inseparable and cannot exist independently any more than
the two components of a force can exist by themselves. They are simply
two aspects of a greater construct or entity."

IS "TIME" A DIMENSION OF "SPACE" 259

All this is, of course, very incomplete so far; but it is eminently
suggestive, and indicates that the scientists who are following this line
of approach are already touching the confines of the occult world,
citizenship in which, as we have seen, arouses a certain irritation with
the conventional view of "time."

But let us try to illustrate the matter a little further. We have
already taken illustrations that involve space of one, two and three
dimensions; let us push on, and see what will happen, if we bring in a
fourth dimension in exactly the same way.

First, let us try to explain the term "fourth dimension."

A straight line on a sheet of white paper represents space of one
dimension, length only. It is created by the movement of a point, which
has no dimension but simply position; in the case of a ruled pencil line,
it is created by the movement of the pencil-point along the edge of the
ruler. Now draw on the paper a perpendicular to this line. You have
at once a second dimension or direction of space. And the two straight
lines together define the surface of the paper, its position as a two-
dimensional space, having both length and breadth. Now stand the
pencil upright at the point where the two straight lines meet on the
paper; this immediately gives you a third dimension or direction of
space : height added to length and breadth. You can only stand the
pencil upright on the paper because you are able to act in space of three
dimensions.

To go back a little. The straight line is space of one dimension. A
perpendicular to this line enters space of two dimensions. The surface
of the paper is two-dimensional space. A perpendicular to this surface —
the pencil set upright — enters space of three dimensions. If we follow
the process one step farther, we shall see that a perpendicular to a three-
dimensional space, a solid, must enter a fourth dimension or direction
of space. The term, fourth dimension, means no more than that.

But you may object that all this is easier said than done, and that a
perpendicular to a solid is unthinkable. But is it so in reality? Let us
answer that by trying to think of it.

While reading this, you are probably in a room with four walls, a
floor and a ceiling : a typical space of three dimensions. Raise your eyes
and look at the wall straight in front of you. The line of your glance is
a perpendicular to the surface of the wall, which is a two-dimensional
space. Look in succession at each of the four walls, and then at the
floor and ceiling. In each case, your line of sight is a perpendicular to
that surface. You have half-a-dozen perpendiculars, one for each of
the bounding surfaces of your three-dimensional space.

Now close your eyes and think of the room. Imagine it out, with
its four walls, its floor and ceiling. You will find that you have in your
mind the picture of all six at once; you can mentally look in all the
directions at once, and visualize the whole interior of the room. Your
mental glance or line of sight is, therefore, perpendicular, not to each

260 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

of the six surfaces in succession, but to the whole room. It is just
the perpendicular to a three-dimensional space, for which we have been
looking.

Now, unless you are reading in a garden-house — improbable in
January — there is a second room, next to the one you are in. If you
are familiar with it, you can, while sitting in your own room, form a
mind-picture of the second room also, with its four walls, ceiling and
roof. You can, from the centre of your thought, draw a perpendicular
to that three-dimensional space also. And you can quite easily think
of the two interiors at the same time, superimposing one room on the
other, and thus being "in two places at the same time". Or, as the
Dream of Ravan puts it, "Without moving is the travelling on this road
. . . Thou shalt experience it!"

To go back a little: When you stood your pencil upright on the
paper at the point where the two straight lines meet, the pencil was per-
pendicular to both lines. And you could, from that point, draw straight
lines in every direction of the compass — in strictness, in an infinite
number of directions — and your pencil would be perpendicular to them
all. In just the same way, you can, sitting quietly in your room, call
up the mind-pictures of as many rooms as you please, and look into
them all: that is, you can, from the point of your thought, draw lines
of sight to each of the rooms, lines which will be perpendicular to all
of them at the same time.

It would appear, then, that our reflective mind-operations are habit-
ually four dimensional, and conform to the conditions of a space of four
dimensions. Take, for instance, memory.

Bergson showed conclusively, in the book translated with the title
Matter and Memory, that it is foolish to think of mind-pictures as being
lodged in the physical substance of the brain. He gets them out of the
brain, but he does not make it wholly clear where he gets them to. It
would seem to be quite evident that they are in a four-dimensional picture
gallery; and, therefore, each of the innumerable rooms in that gallery
is as near to you as any other, so that you can look with equal
ease at any picture, on any wall. Speaking three-dimensionally, all the
mind-images are in the same place. But speaking four-dimensionally,
they are ranged in admirable order, so that you can immediately pick
out any one.

Take a kind of mind-picture that is easily counted — a word. You
know a great many thousand words in your own tongue, familiar, literary,
scientific and technical words. Each one is as near your vocal perception
as any other. They are ranged in four-dimensional order. If you
learned a dozen languages in addition to your own, it would be just the
same. Each of several hundred thousand words would be equally near
the focus of your consciousness.

So it would seem that we are familiar with the fourth dimension,-
though we may not have recognized the fact. Our minds are there

IS "TIME" A DIMENSION OF "SPACE" 261

already. If we could drive inward, into and through the mind, so that
the mind might be external to our consciousness, as the body now is;
the mind would then be a kind of body, or, to put it otherwise, we
should be in possession of a mind-body, in which we could quite easily
do four-dimensional things like being in two places at once. Perhaps
that is what the Dream of Ravan is suggesting.

Now let us go back again, and try to get a further hold of the time-
space problem. You are at present at a certain point on the surface
of the earth. The diurnal rotation of the globe from west to east causes
the sun to appear over your eastern horizon, to pass through the meri-
dian, and then to descend to the western horizon. That is a general
experience. After the sun sets, stars begin to appear, and for the same
reason, make the same journey. So you have the succession of morning,
noon and evening, of day and night. It is a time-succession for you,
lasting twenty-four hours.

But if, instead of looking with your physical eyes at day and night,
you think of them in the roomy chamber of your mind, you will easily
be able to imagine the earth, one side turned toward the sun, and the
other side turned toward outer space: a bright half and a dark half;
day and night both going on at the same time, no longer successive but
simultaneous. And it is quite clear that both day and night are thus
always going on at the same time. There is no to-day nor to-morrow,
no this-morning or last-night. It is perpetually "now," with half the
world lit up and half in darkness, or illumined only by the stars.

We have, therefore, by mentally standing apart from the earth and
looking at it from outside, transformed the succession of day and night
from a time-aspect to a space-aspect; from consecutive to simultaneous.

Might it not be possible for a spiritual consciousness to do the same
thing, standing apart, not from the outer vesture of life, its days and
nights, but from its inner content of experience, and thus to see the
succession of past, present and future as a single vision, in the light of
eternity? Perhaps this is the reason why every religious system teaches
this standing back — detachment?

We saw, a little while ago, that what appears as a succession in
a lower-dimensioned consciousness, becomes simultaneous in a higher-
dimensioned consciousness. Let us try to apply this.

Let us suppose that a Master, in whom we must postulate a higher-
dimensioned consciousness, has a dozen pupils. How can he watch them
all, train and guide them all, at one and the same time?

A three-dimensional college-professor can take care of a dozen
students by giving his full attention to each in turn. This is strictly
comparable to the first perception of the foot-rule as a succession of
inch-marks perceived successively throughout a certain duration of time.
But, just as, by adding a dimension of consciousness, it was possible
and easy to get a view of all twelve inch-marks simultaneously, so it
may be possible and easy for the Master, in virtue of a higher-dimen-

262 THEOSOPHICAL QUARTERLY

sioned consciousness, to hold a dozen pupils in full view simultaneously,
giving complete and uninterrupted attention simultaneously to all the
twelve. What is possible as a succession for the college professor, may
be possible as a simultaneous perception for the Master.

Extend this, and it becomes quite thinkable that a divine conscious-
ness may listen simultaneously to the prayers of ten millions of wor-
shippers and may follow in detail the worship in a million churches at
once.

One more thought. Our bodies are three-dimensional, and to our
bodies the Theosophical teaching assigns three Pr